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You remember our talk about purpose and meaning? he asked me, the smile disappearing. Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 47
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Talk
Disappearing
Purpose
Disappear
Remember
Smile
Wells
Meant
Might
Mines
Well
Mine
Think
Meaning
Thinking
Asked
Georgina

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Roza. His voice had that same wonderful lowness, the same accent . . . it was all just colder. You forgot my first lesson: Don’t hesitate.
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So much grief, so much anger. So unlike the usual Adrian.
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Are we going to New Orleans? No, she said, backing out of the spot. We're going to West Virginia. I assume by 'West Virginia,' you actually mean 'Hawaii,' I said. Or some place equally exciting.
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He has no right to threaten my boyfriends. I'm eighteen. An adult. I don't need his help. I can threaten my boyfriends myself.
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No, he said, voice thick and husky. His fingers dug into the chair's arms. You'd better not get too close. I stopped, laughing softly. You don't strike me as the assaulting type, Mortensen. Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything.
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It was like having a genie. I'd only get so many wishes.
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Just friends, just friends. Standing there in the bookstore, watching Seth walk away, I half wondered how anyone could still use that line. But I knew why, of course. It was used because people still believed it. Or at least they wanted to.
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She heard Adrian say to Christian, ʺYou know, your shirtʹs kind of grungy-looking. Seems like you could put in a little more effort since youʹre dating a princess.ʺ
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I hoped Lissa remained the only one with a surprise sibling.
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Only a true best friend can protect you from your immortal enemies.
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Yeah, I was at the Masquerade of the Damned.
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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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Having your own, um, cave at eighteen is pretty cool.
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I was so awash in sensory overload that I was caught completely unaware when he did push me away
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I think Adrian really likes you. Like, in a wanting-to-be-serious way. Nope. He likes me in a wanting-to-get-the-clothes-off-the-cute-dhampir way.
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My mother wasnʹt sleeping with anybody. She doesnʹt even sleep with my father.
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It doesn't matter. Take Eddie's blood. Take Belikov's blood. Take your own for all I care. But If she doesn't want to give hers, then that's all there is to it. She said no. This conversation is done.
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I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.
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He shrugged. The same as any other. It's a way to make people feel better about themselves. Everyone likes feeling special. Being part of an elite group is a way to do that. But you weren't part of it? No need. I already know I'm special.
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Sometimes talking to you is like talking to myself: pretty damned annoying.
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