Anya Quotes

He had a bleeding cut on his leg and he smelled like shit. Her nose wrinkled. "Step in something?" she asked innocently. "That I did not mind." He took a menacing step toward her. "What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection.

Anya jumped in front of the man, acting as his shield. “Now, Sabin. He didn’t mean any harm. He’s borderline stupid. You know that.

What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection.

A woman with opinions had better develop a thick skin and a loud voice.

He’s a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy. And though he’s not a Lord, he does have a curse hanging over his head. I have the book to prove it.” William growled low in his throat. “Anya! Must you share my secrets with everyone?” He flattened his palms on the arms of his chair. “Fine. If you can spill, I can, too. Anya’s the reason the Titanic sank. She was playing chicken with the icebergs.” Scowling, Anya anchored her hands on her hips. “William had a bronze made of his penis and placed it on his mantel.

I love you Anya, you’re the only woman who’s had that from me and you’re the only one who ever will.

Anya, the minor goddess of Anarchy? A woman who had more balls than most men—because she’d cut them off the guys stupid enough to get in her way and kept them as souvenirs.

Nay, it's not the Devil been leading her astray. It's books! That girl has been nothing but trouble ever since she learned how to read.

Oh, Anya! Let's have an intense spiritual relationship for no believable reason!

You’re perfect, baby.” I blinked. Then I whispered, “Knight – “ “No, Anya, no fucked up shit outta that sweet mouth. I’m not gonna listen to it and I’ll work my balls off, I don’t care if it takes decades, to make you stop even thinkin’ it. Instead, you gotta know that every second I spend with you it becomes more and more clear that you were made for me. A gift I don’t deserve, didn’t earn but I’m not giving it back.

I don't think murder is an appropriate reaction to disappointment.

Whether I like it or not, most of my images of what various historical periods feel, smell, or sound like were acquired well before I set foot in any history class. They came from Margaret Mitchell, from Anya Seton, from M.M. Kaye, and a host of other authors, in their crackly plastic library bindings. Whether historians acknowledge it or not, scholarly history’s illegitimate cousin, the historical novel, plays a profound role in shaping widely held conceptions of historical realities.

Strider's bedroom "The only thing hanging on the wall that wasn't a weapon was the portrait just over the bed. No. Not true, he thought then. The portrait was a weapon, too. Of seduction. In it Strider was utterly naked and whisking through the cloads like an avenging angel. He was holding a teddy bear in one hand and a stream of pink ribbons in the other. Anya had given him the nearly life-size monstrasity as a joke. But the joke was on her. He loved the thing.

Truth is naturally universal...and shines into many different windows, though many are clouded.

... I hadn't understood that people you loved could do things you didn't love. And, still, you could keep loving them.

You may look normal like everyone else, but you're not. Not on the inside.

Anya looked upon Nin admirably. Having him as a partner-in-crime—if only on this one occasion, which she hoped would only be the start of something more—was more revitalizing than the cheap thrills of a cookie-cutter shallow, superficial romance, where the top priority was how beautiful a person was on the outside.

Why can't I just Google it like everything else?! I hate you public library system!

There's hope around the corner.

Her lips were drawn to his like a moth to a flame.

We haven't been together very long," I reminded him. "You love me and I love you. How long does that need to be?" Knight and Anya Gage

Even if a man has everything - money, power, the key to eternal life - he still is nothing if he is without a family to love him and for him to love.

Impressing a bunch of snooty teenagers is a pretty lame life goal to have.

Anya: I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's- There's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And-and Xander's crying and not talking, and-and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why.

Hi, Anya. Can I join you?" Anya looked up from her meal with a dour expression. "I'm not a blond." An obvious statement, it made no sense without a context. She added, "I'm not a twig." "You're not a twig, that's also true." He gave her a smile, curious where this was going.

I could lose myself forever in that dark hair and those sweet love handles.

passion is all consuming

People might think that five-year-olds can't be cruel, but I have some strong evidence to the contrary".

You're strong. Give him time to show you. I promise you Anya, you won't ever regret it

I only know that from wherever it is that we're going there can be no turning back

Men like to imagine and think vulgar thoughts, but present them with boldness and they run scared.

The sun was good. The men of the llano were men of the sun. The men of the farms along the river were men of the moon. But we were all children of the white sun.

There are many trails up the mountain, but in time they all reach the top.

I understand very clearly," Anya replied, a pensive look on her face. Peter's mom continued, "Anya, I suspect you're going through similar feelings. There are so many nice young men vying for your attention, it can get bewildering. I was there, so I know what it's like for you." "Thank you for saying that, Mrs. Brown. I believe I know what they all want, but I'm just not ready to get serious yet.

Lucien: And Flowers--but only Anya can call me that. William: Fine. I'll call you Roses. Lucien: You won't. William: I will. Zodiac sign, Roses? Lucien: First, how does my woman stand you? Second, I don't think I have a sign. I was created rather than born, and I am unsure of the day, much less the month. William: I'll just mark your sign as "Roses". Choice of weapon, Roses? Lucien: You are a bastard. But I like knives. I like to get up close and personal with my kills. Care for a demonstration? William: Later. What are you looking for in a woman, Roses? Lucien: Why don't I just call you Moron? Anya does.....

Anya made you kiss her? Yeah. And at our next stop, I'll expect you to deliver. I'll pay, William piped up. After you describe everything about that kiss you two shared. Did you cop a feel? You did, didn't you, you little hussy. I bet you moaned a lot, too. Too late for you to pay, she said in a sing song voice. Strider already offered, and I already accepted. And no, I won't do any describing. You can just imagine how sexy it was. Oh, and Willie. Just so you know, your imagination won't do it justice.

Peter muttered, shaking his head in dismay. "Megan is some piece of work. I was a little worried that guy she supplied to Anya would try to throw-down. He was one of those bodybuilder types that stand in front of the mirror all day admiring themselves." Christy replied, "I know the type. They can't believe all people aren't equally in love with their muscles. Most of them can't even finish a sentence, or put down their muscle magazines.

Penny, how can you behave like a total idiot?" Anne giggled, "I have no pride when it comes to winning back people I love.

Part of being alive is figuring out the balance between what you want, what you need, and what you have with what you don't want, don't need and don't have.

- Szépen vagyunk - mondta anya. (...) Egyetlen családtagunk büszkélkedhet normális párkapcsolattal, az is szociopata.

I love you, Anya,” he said. “You are my soul.

She understands suddenly that the stuff that fills her up is not the love or attention she might get from other people; it is the love she herself has for other people. We are, Portia decides, the people we love

But Anya, you're not any girl, you are someone very special. You have a gift of happiness that's almost magical". To Anya the gentle fluttering of new life within reminded her that Adam had not only been there in Stockholm but would remain with her forever. "It is completely possible. Idiopathic reversals of ovarian failure are well documented in the literature.

Xavier...he is afraid of losing you-He is also insane for you. Insane for you without the soul to join yours or the deep attraction to awaken you...but with the devotion to endure this Godless place for you.

Dari Ibu, aku belajar indahnya berbagi. Berbagi makan dalam kandungannya, berbagi minum dalam pangkuannya. Dari Ibu, aku belajar indahnya berbagi. Berbagi nyawa dalam rahimnya, berbagi surga dalam do'anya.

He might fight under my badge, Bet'anya, but you're the only one he would die for.

It’s what she raised me to be. It’s all I know, Anya. Protection. I was born then I was raised to be a shield.

I love you, Anya, you’re the only woman who’s had that from me and you’re the only one who ever will.” He meant that. Every word. To his soul. He meant it.

Renee Anabeth Cooper, even though you are bossy, and you think that you know everything because you're three years older than me," he chuckled and then straightened up his angelic face. His blue eyes looked up at her with all the love that he muster. "Will you do me the honor of being my wife.

With a clipped slash of his arm, Lucien knocked her hat. The ultrafashionable Anya sported uneven bangs and layers that hung sloppily around her face. "You may or may not look ridiculous. And adorable," he added with a grumble.

Drustan raked a hand through his hair and fumbled in the dark for the door. When it didn't budge, a part of him was unsurprised. Yet another part of him met the fact with a kind of glad resignation. She wanted battle? Battle she would get. It would be a pleasure to have it out with her finally. Once he'd ripped the door from the framing, he would exact vengeance upon her wee body with gleeful abandon. No more honorable I-won't-touch-you-because-I'm-betrothed. Nay he'd touch her. Any damn place and any damn way he wanted to. As many times as he wanted to. Until she begged and whimpered beneath him. She'd been trying to drive him mad? Well, he was giving in to it. He would act like the animal she made him feel like being. The hell with Anya, the hell with duty and honor, the hell with discipline. He needed to tup. Her. Now.

You want to know everything? Look at yourself. You discover a truth and can barely function.

Lui non era il sole, nè la luna. Lui era l'eclissi.

Life is not worth living unless you live it for the One who gave you life.

Perché sei qui? Perché non mi hai tolto di mezzo, quella notte?”. “I tuoi occhi” rispose Kynk, socchiudendo i suoi. “I miei occhi? Cos’hanno i miei occhi?” domandò Jay, sconcertato. “Hanno tutto quello che cerco”.

Gods and goddesses, merits, demerits and their fruits, which are likewise anya (other than oneself), objects of attachment and the knowledge of those objects — all these will lead one to bondage in mighty samsara.

A decent moustache can intimidate a man, while a great moustache can frighten an army.

I am sure that no man asks mercy and grace with true meaning, but if mercy and grace have first been given him.

Men in lust can get creative.

La parola ‘amore’ per noi non esiste, esiste solo la dolce, struggente, passionale, e depravata ossessione di fare nostro, in ogni modo e con qualsiasi mezzo, quello che desideriamo.

He was all sin and mystery, and Miranda feared the pleasures he offered as she feared the fires of hell. Yet when she succumbed at last, it was not because her body was weak but because her mind was curious.

What...the fuck... is the matter with you?" ... What? ... "I didn't do anything!" ... "You put on that dress, didn't you?"... "What?"... "You... do not... leave your house... dressed like that... without being on the arm of a man like me," he ground out... "A man like you?" I whispered back. "A man who'd shoot another man in the face he even looked at you. Yeah, Anya, a man... like... me

In the Cone family, there was no such thing as containment. Feelings were splattered around the household with the intensity of a spraying fire house. I was terrified of what I might witness or hear tonight. But along with that terror, my fondness for the Cones only grew. To feel something was to feel alive. And to feel alive was starting to feel like love.

Fear, I suddenly realized, was an emotion that ran through my home with the constant, buzzing current of a plugged-in appliance.

And I also wanted to tell her how much I loved cooking for the Cones. How cooking for people you love feels less like a chore and more like a way of saying I love you.

Christ is my standard, the Bible is my guide, and His Blood is my healer. On the narrow way I press on looking forward to the eternal glory on the other side.

The greatest magic in the world is an open mind.

It had never before occurred to me that sometimes dishes weren’t just dishes, that things could represent ideas in more powerful ways than the ideas themselves.

What do you want?" Peter chuckled, "Right now, to eat my lunch, just like you. Am I missing something here?" "I don't understand American boys, sometimes. I've learned English, but you people can use subtle meanings that elude me in what you say and do." "We're just sharing a table, eating lunch. There's nothing subtle about that." 

«Non hai bisogno di farlo.» «Di fare cosa?» «Fingere di non avere paura.»

He didn’t face her. “I said go away.” “Like I’m going to obey you. You aren’t my daddy. Unless you want to be. ’Cause I’ve been a bad, naughty girl and I need a spanking.

Wherever there's bad, there's always good nearby. That's nature's way.

I guess every disaster, every tragedy in the world, my lad, is caused by someone’s selfishness and refusal to recognize the rights of others.

Dear diary," Anya muttered. "It's been three hours since I killed someone. Needless to say, life sucks. My gorgeous fiancé refuses to let me kill the most loathsome creature ever. Won't even let me give her a few superficial stab wounds. I'm thinking about breaking up with him." "I wouldn't recommend it" Reyes replied. "He may not ask for your hand in marriage a second time." She gasped with outrage. "Lucien. Tell him!" 'I'd ask again." Lucien told him,

On Sundays Mom invariably ran out of money, which is when she cracked eggs into the skillet over cubes of fried black sourdough bread. It was, I think, the most delicious and eloquent expression of pauperism.

Anya, you aren’t getting’ this but two weeks ago when you walked into my bedroom to use my phone, the life you been livin’ which isn’t all that good got better. A fuckuva lot better. Because I’m gonna make it that way. And in return, I’m gonna ask very little of you. And right now, all I’m askin’ is for you to hang here until I come home so I can spent more time with you since I probably not gonna see you again for another week.

Can I have my ear back?" He asked irritably. She blinked. "Mother, can you tell this creature here to loosen her hold?

If there was one thing to know about families, then it was that they’d never, ever stop meddling in your life.

Dopo un’uccisione si sentiva sempre bene, invincibile. Inarrestabile. Forte. Indistruttibile. Quando prendeva una vita si sentiva un Dio.

La bellezza, che bugiarda, che traditrice. Lui era un mostro mascherato da angelo. Un angelo nero. No, un demonio

Miranda looked up at him through a haze of desire, her will consumed by a fierce crackling heat, just like the dry twigs of the old woman's fire.

She practically had to stop herself from climbing his body and empaling herself on his cock.

Roane is an enemy, but a very fuckable one.

pretty please, with a cherry on top of me!

Where the devil can’t go, he sends a woman.

Philomena spun a tale about a butterfly that turned back into a caterpillar—saying that the butterfly would rather live in the cocoon for years than fly under the sun for only a few short days. “Butterflies don’t last,” said Philomena solemnly.

Why are you here?" I asked him. "That's an awfully big question, Anya." "No, I meant here outside this office. What did you do wrong?" "Multiple choice," he said. "(a) A few pointed comments I made in Theology. (b) Headmaster wants to have a chat with the new kid about wearing hats in school. (c) My schedule. I'm just too darn smart for my classes. (d) My eyewitness account of the girl who poured lasagna over her boyfriend's head. (e.) Headmaster's leaving her husband and wants to run away with me. (f) None of the above. (g) All of the above." "Ex-boyfriend," I mumbled. "Good to know," he said.

Six paradoxes of Mature Socialism: 1) There’s no unemployment, but no one works; 2) no one works, but productivity goes up; 3) productivity goes up, but stores are empty; 4) stores are empty, but fridges are full; 5) fridges are full, but no one is satisfied; 6) no one is satisfied, but everyone votes yes.

Elizabeth squirmed on the hard wooden bench, and tried to ignore both her sore backside and her rumbling stomach. Why did the minister's sermons last so long? And why did the talk of sin always give her such a hearty appetite?

Ready to have some fun?” She didn’t give him time to answer. Weighed down with the chains, she flashed to a busy street in New York—fingers crossed he would be run over—then to a gay strip club in Italy—fingers crossed he would be groped—then to a zoo in Oklahoma—fingers crossed the elephant shit was ripe. “Enjoy,” she muttered with relish. Anya flashed one final time, back to where she’d begun: his home in Greece. Lucien was still following her trail. Lightning-quick, she hid the chains under the bed and palmed her Taser. When she straightened he was there, just in front of her. Her breath caught. He was still scowling, teeth bared and sharp, Death glowing in his eyes. He had a bleeding cut on his leg and he smelled like shit. Her nose wrinkled. “Step in something?” she asked innocently. “That, I did not mind.” He took a menacing step toward her. “What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection.” She grinned. She just couldn’t help herself.

Anything you can think of, anything you can imagine- is real.. somewhere. We dream of such things, here on earth, never realizing in our dream-state our minds are peering into other worlds.

No, lui non apprezzava sentire la sporcizia sulle sue mani, non gli piaceva sporcarsele, tranne in occasioni specifiche, quando il sangue versato apparteneva a qualcuno che lui desiderava. Uomo o donna che fosse, per Samael non era importante.

Well... there might be a slight problem with the she-devil in your room," she admitted. What! Demon red shimmered before his eye. "Did you harm her?" "What? Sweet lil me? She shook her head, all innocence. "But I may or may not have done some research and come across a bit of info that said hacking off all the her hair would severely weaken her. Then I may or may not have snuck in your bedroom with a pair of scissors and taken these." She lifted her arms and clutched in both her hands were thick hanks of golden hair. "By the way, I may or may not know for a fact that the rumors are definitely not true." Going. To. Kill. Her. "The Red Queen may or may not have woken up mid style job," Anya continued blithely, "and may or may not have taken the scissors away from me and given me a new style of my own.

I think we did it right those couple of months, don't you? Great food, great music, and great fun. Don't ever let anyone tell you that fun isn't important because, damn, Mary Jane, if there's one thing I've learned in my strange life, it's that fun counts.

Win interrupted me. "Stop," he said. "I love you, too." He paused. "You underestimate me, Annie. I'm not blind to your faults. You keep too many secrets, for one. You lie sometimes. You have trouble saying the things in your heart. You have an awful temper. You hold a grudge. And I'm not saying this one is your fault, but people who know you have a disturbing tendency to end up with bullets in them. You don't have faith in anyone, including me. You think I'm an idiot sometimes. Don't deny it--I can tell. And maybe I was an idiot a year ago, but a lot has happened since then. I'm different, Anya. You used to say I didn't know what love was. But I think I learned what it is. I learned it when I thought I had lost you over the summer. And I learned it when my leg ached something awful. And I learned it when you were gone and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And I learned it every night when I'd pray that you were safe even if I never got to see you again. I don't want to marry you. I'm just happy to be near you for a while, and for as long as you'll let me be. Because there's never been anyone else for me but you. There will never be anyone else for me but you. I know this. I do. Annie, my Annie, don't cry..." (Was I crying? Yes, I suppose I was. But I was still so awfully tired. You can't possibly hold this against me.) "I know that loving you is going to be hard, Annie. But I love you, come what may.

Years later, when Dostoevsky was reading the book of Job once again, he wrote his wife that it put him into such a state of "unhealthy rapture" that he almost cried. "It's a strange thing, Anya, this books is one of the first in my life which made an impression on me; I was then still almost a child." There is an allusion to this revelatory experience of the young boy in The Brothers Karamazov, where Zosima recalls being struck by a reading of the book of Job at the age of eight and feeling that "for the first time in my life I consciously received the seed of God's word in my heart" (9:287). This seed was one day to flower into the magnificent growth of Ivan Karamazov's passionate protest against God's injustice and the Legend of the Grand Inquisitor, but it also grew into Alyosha's submission to the awesomeness of the infinite before which Job too had once bowed his head, and into Zosima's teaching of the necessity for an ultimate faith in the goodness of God's mysterious wisdom. It is Dostoevsky's genius as a writer to have been able to feel (and to express) both these extremes of rejection and acceptance. While the tension of this polarity may have developed out of the ambivalence of Dostoevsky's psychodynamic relationship with his father, what is important is to see how early it was transposed and projected into the religious symbolism of the eternal problem of theodicy.

Strisciando fuori dal nascondiglio dov’era rimasto -completamente inosservato- si piazzò alle spalle del suo obbiettivo; la giovane non si accorse di nulla. E come avrebbe potuto. «Buh». Era stato più forte di lui, soppresse un sorriso quando lei si voltò emettendo un gridolino strozzato. Gli occhi sbarrati dal terrore, quel tipo di terrore che ti mangia dentro e non ti dà scampo. Con il suo sguardo predatorio assorbì quello spaventato della ragazza, cibandosene.

Mi ritrovai a spalancare gli occhi per incontrare i suoi, pallidi e disumani. Mi sentii persa e vulnerabile. Come in una foresta al calar della notte, circondata dall’ululato di lupi che fremevano all’idea di dilaniare ogni lembo del mio corpo. Stranamente la sua mano risalì per scostare delle ciocche di capelli corti dalla mia fronte sudata. Il suo tocco sembrò umano, ma il suo sguardo non mi fece illudere neanche per un momento. Non dovevo dimenticare chi avevo di fronte. Un uomo senza scrupoli.

Presently comfort came to him, and he thought the she had always given him of her strength though he had never quite realised it until now. Glory had passed him by; fame too perhaps would not endure; it might well be that the incalculable goddess would decree ill fame as his due. Perhaps there might not be included in his epitah the one tribute to his knighthood the he knew he deserved "Ii fut toujours bon et loyal chevalier" (He was always good and loyal knight) But whatever the shadowed years might bring, as long as life should last, he knew that he had here at his side one sure recompense and one abiding loyalty.

Yes," Nicholas replied, in a bored voice. "The name is Dutch. Dragonwyck, meaning place of the dragon. It derives from an Indian legend about a flying serpent whose eyes were fire and whose flaming breath withered the corn." "Heavens!" With a light laugh, Miranda asked her new employer if the red men had sent forth a champion to do battle with the dragon. The patroon's face was dark, unsmiling. "To appease him the wise men of the tribe sacrificed a pure maiden on the rocky bluff you see above you." Miranda's laughter died. Something in Nicholas Van Ryn's cruel, handsome features made her imagine herself in the Indian maiden's place.