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My muse is an ungrateful harlot who’s abandoned me to actually come up with my own plots.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Plots
Ungrateful
Muse
Abandoned
Plot
Actually
Come
Harlot
Harlots

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She is mine, and I am hers.
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Jesse: Hey Rose, welcome back. Still breaking hearts? Rose: Are you volunteering?
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And after a while...I mean how do you choose? Who gets to live? Part of life is that...well, some people have to die.
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We need to get inside. I think my hair gel’s frozen.
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It’s Adrian Ivashkov logic. Don’t try to understand it. Just roll with it.
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Even now, despite Angeline's watchfulness, she'd occasionally oscillate between random topics, like how shepherd's pie wasn't a pie at all and why it was pointless for her to take class in typing when technology would eventually develop robot companions to do it for us.
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Ah, my daughter,ʺ he said. ʺEighteen, and already youʹve been accused of murder, aided felons, and acquired a death count higher than most guardians will ever see.ʺ He paused. ʺI couldnʹt be prouder.
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His eyes, I’d long since discovered, could be as eloquent and expressive as his pen. The messages they sent me now hardly seemed decent for a public setting.
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You’ll have your own superhero club before you know it.
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I looked at you... and saw your goodness, your hope, and your faith. Those are what make you beautiful. So, so beautiful. So it was't my hair?
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It’s as easy as we choose to make it,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. “At least, this decision is. Nothing’s truly easy, Georgina. Love and life . . . they’re wonderful, but they’re hard. We may mess up again. We have to be strong and decide if we can still go forward, even when things aren’t perfect.
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Tawny, I barked. My voice held the authority of a drill sergeant. She jumped. I am NOT making out with you until the end of time. You want to do this, then you've got to work for it. Now, TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES. Oh, said Hugh. I've waited ten years to hear you say that to another woman.
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Later, I would ask Shaya to help me compose a formal response to Katrice's letter, something a long the lines of I am the Thorn Queen. F*** Off.
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I tried to dredge up the same reaction other girls had around Marcus, but nothing happened. No matter how hard I tried, I just didn't have that same attraction His hair was too blond, I decided. And his eyes needed a little more green.
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We all have moments of weakness. It’s how we recover from them that really counts.
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Sydney spent a lot of time on my bed these days. Unfortunately, it wasn't with me.
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It was the most convulted, ridiculous piece of logic I'd heard in awhile... It was something I would have come up with.
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Can't you... I don't. Find a hobby or something? Being charming is my hobby.
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Only what?” I asked. I could barely hear my own voice. He turned his gaze back to me, firm and unflinching. “Only… more human.” And that was it. All the anger and sorrow vanished. There was nothing in me. Nothing at all. I was empty. “Get out,” I said.
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