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What's purple mean? Adrian put his hand on the door. Gotta go, Sage. Dont want to keep Dorothy waiting
Richelle Mead
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Richelle Mead
Age: 47
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Doors
Hand
Dorothy
Waiting
Adrian
Keep
Sage
Hands
Purple
Mean
Dont
Gotta
Door
More quotes by Richelle Mead
Where are we going? asked Victor. If I'm allowed to ask. I squirmed around in my seat so that I could look him in the eye. That's what you're going to tell us. As hard as it is to believe, we didn't do all that just because we missed your pleasant company. That is hard to believe.
Richelle Mead
No, I can just read you. Finally. I can't believe how blind I was. I can't believe I never noticed. Victor's comment...he was right. She glanced off at the sunset, then turned her gaze back on me. A flash of anger, both in her feelings and her eyes, hit me. Why didn't you tell me? she cried. Why didn't you tell me you loved Dimitri?
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I hoped Lissa remained the only one with a surprise sibling.
Richelle Mead
I nearly dropped the plate I held. You've asked me out tons of times. Not really. I've made inapproprite suggestions and frequently pushed for nudity. But I've never asked you out on a real date. And, if memory serves, you did say you'd give me a fair chance once I let you clean out my trust fund. I didn't clean it out, I scoffed.
Richelle Mead
All right, I managed to say, just before I crumpled to the floor. Let's see what you've got.
Richelle Mead
I want your opinion.ʺ ʺThat,ʺ Adrian said, ʺis not something I hear a lot.ʺ
Richelle Mead
You're my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other.
Richelle Mead
My mom beat me up, I informed my reflection. It looked back sympathetically.
Richelle Mead
That's the great thing about being a writer. You dream up amazing questions... and then dream up even more amazing answers.
Richelle Mead
You are the most boring teacher ever. He grinned and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, just as a knock sounded at the door. It all depends on what you me to teach you.
Richelle Mead
Sometimes talking to you is like talking to myself: pretty damned annoying.
Richelle Mead
He froze, and for one moment, we stood locked in time. I could feel the silk of his shirt against my skin and the warmth of his body. The lingering scent of the overpriced cologne he wore floated around me. No smoke for a change. I’d always told him the cologne couldn’t be worth what he spent, but suddenly, I reconsidered. It was amazing.
Richelle Mead
I just told you to be quiet. That's one step away from asking you to wash my laundry and make me a sandwich.
Richelle Mead
Get up guys. We’ve got a visit to pay.” “What are you talking about?” “I am not hanging out with Blake Lazar again.
Richelle Mead
You are an exceptional, talented, and brilliant young woman. Do not ever let anyone make you feel like you’re less. Do not ever let anyone make you feel invisible. Do not let anyone—not even a teacher who constantly sends you for coffee—push you around.
Richelle Mead
Adrian tipped my face up toward his and kissed me. Like always, the world around me stopped moving. No, the world became Adrian, only Adrian.
Richelle Mead
I don't think most people take honest well. They prefer the games. They want to believe the pretty lies.
Richelle Mead
What? I asked uneasily. Why are you looking at me like that? He shook his head, the smile rueful now. Because sometimes, a person can get so caught up in the details that they miss the whole. It's not just the dress or the hair. It's YOU. You're beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts me.
Richelle Mead
One of the few downsides to being awakened is that we no longer require sleep therefore we also no longer dream. It's a shame, because if I could dream, I know I'd dream about you.
Richelle Mead
We studied our angels for a few moments more, looking at where we had lain side by side in that sweet, quiet moment. I wished what I’d said was true, that we had truly left our mark on the mountain. But I knew that after the next snowfall, our angels would disappear into the whiteness and be nothing more than a memory.
Richelle Mead