Axton Quotes

'Now you're uncomfortable?' Leander smirked, 'After all that?' 'That's different,' Axton said, sitting up and pulling a pillow to his chest, unconsciously hiding. 'Fine,' Leander said, rolling his eyes, 'You have these stupid gold eyes, something something, I love looking into them, PS: fuck you. Is that better?'

Knowledge, I’ve found, will not betray you the way that people will.

This was different. It had synths droning and sending saltwater waves under my feet. It had drumbeats bursting like fireworks, rumbling the furniture out of place, and then a crazy, irregular, disharmonious, spiral crescendo of pure electric noise, like a typhoon dragging our bodies into it. It featured brass orchestras and choirs of mermaids and a piano in Iceland, all of them right there, visible, touchable, in Axton House. It shook us, fucked us, suspended us far above the reach of Help bouncing on his hind legs. It spoke of magenta sunsets and plastic patio chairs growing moss under summer storms rolling on caterpillar tracks. It sprinkled a bokeh of car lights rushing through night highways and slapped our faces like the wind at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. It pictured Niamh playing guitar, washed up naked on a beach in Fiji.

You wanna do this?” he asks, though his hands are gripping for my tank. “Speak now or forever hold your fucking peace, Little Bird.” I do what any girl would do with Kingston Axton half naked on top of them, wanting to eat you alive. I hold my fucking peace.

I’m terrified of learning the truth. About my mission. About Axton. About who I really am, and what I’m capable of doing. I’d rather stay in denial. Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’m not going to like the truth of my apparent new reality.

Our bond’s fully formed now. When did that happen?” “When I was resuscitating you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I didn’t realize I was holding back. It wasn’t intentional.” “I know.” “I was scared of needing anyone, scared of having anyone need me.” “I get it.” “No, you don’t. You have no concept of how much I need you. It scares me.” “Same here.” Needing someone went against every instinct she had developed, but Marcus was essential to her. “Then don’t ever endanger your life like that again. You keep this ass safe for me.” He palmed it and gave it a light squeeze. “Okay?” “Okay.” His mouth came down on hers, licking, nipping, and biting. Pulling back, he gave her one of those sensual smiles that did very interesting things to her body. “I love you, Roni Axton.” “And I love you, Marcus Fuller.” Watching as a familiar pained expression suddenly formed on his face, she said, “Seriously? Despite almost dying, you’re hungry?” “I don’t know how to answer that question without irritating you.” His mate just rolled her eyes, making him smile again.

Work your fingers to the bone - whadda ya get? --------- boney fingers - boney fingers...

The formless aching hunger that suffused his being wasn't there like it used to be. There was something sharper in it, like the great creeping cloud inside him had found claws.

I had learned that my mother would do just about anything to contend with the perceived slights of the world. She would even cause me pain.

I couldn’t understand why it mattered what I looked like on the outside if on the inside I felt so profoundly shitty.

It’s practically tattooed on his forehead. Ooh—let’s get a tattoo.” “Yeah!” Jaime rolled onto her side. “We totally should. Let’s do it tomorrow.” “Totally. Definitely. What’re you getting? I’m thinking of getting ‘Nick Axton Is a Fuck-Ass’ right across my forehead.” Jaime pursed her lips as she considered it. “I like it. It’s different. It has an edge to it.” “I know, right?

The Names, in fact, is a study in American ignorance; then as now, few Americans knew the difference between Sunni and Shiite, or how to pronounce Iran (“E-ron”). DeLillo’s protagonist, Axton, is a risk analyst for an insurance company that counsels multinational corporations on pressing questions about the world. Which country is risky? Where will the next bomb go off? Who creates the risk? Axton is also, as my Turkish friends liked to imagine I was, an unwitting agent for the CIA, the spy who doesn’t know he’s a spy. “Are they killing Americans?” is his main question. Axton and the Americans abroad can’t make sense of the world, can’t grab onto anything. They are not so much arrogant as confused. They perceive their vulnerability, their noses wrinkling at smells in the air: “Wasn’t there a sense, we Americans felt, in which we had it coming?” A Greek man named Eliades, with the aspect of a grumpy sage, says to the Americans: I think it’s only in a crisis that Americans see other people. It has to be an American crisis, of course. If two countries fight that do not supply the Americans with some precious commodity, then the education of the public does not take place. But when the dictator falls, when the oil is threatened, then you turn on the television and they tell you where the country is, what the language is, how to pronounce the names of the leaders, what the religion is all about, and maybe you can cut out recipes in the newspaper of Persian dishes. I will tell you. The whole world takes an interest in this curious way Americans educate themselves.

If I knew one thing about my dad, it was that he would be a good assistant nothing. Dad was the boss, through and through.

Dustin’s vision collapsed inward from the lack of oxygen, but Dustin didn’t dare struggle. This is the way it was with Dad, too. Struggle, and he really would kill him. Wait for him to tire of the abuse, and Axton might let him breathe another day. He hated his brother. But he loved him more than anything. He was his alpha. Maybe he should just provoke Axton this time and end the purgatory.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that you had taken something of mine. Something you had no right to. It’s lingered over the years, that all-consuming feeling. And I feel it now. What are you hiding, Axton? What do you have that’s mine?”  

Motherly support to so many people, but why not me?

Unlike normal parents, psychopaths do not encourage independence or self-confidence in their children. Instead, they work to undermine the child’s self-esteem, making derogatory comments about their skills or appearance. Any encouragement that a psychopath might offer is for their own ends and they will be the first to take credit for their child’s achievement.

I just find myself reminded of that time when you visited my territory and the subject of a mating ceremony for Taryn and me was brought up. I said if she wanted to have one, we’d have one, but that if she didn’t, we wouldn’t. What was it you said? Oh, that’s it. You said I shouldn’t let my mate have her own way all the time. Hmm. Right back atcha.

Grief waited like horses locked in a starting gate.

THE PHOENIX PACK: Trey Coleman Alpha Taryn Warner Alpha Dante Beta Tao Head Enforcer Dominic Enforcer Marcus Enforcer Patrick “Trick” Enforcer Ryan Enforcer Greta Trey’s grandmother Grace Mated to Rhett Rhett Mated to Grace Lydia Mated to Cam Cam Mated to Lydia Kirk Brock’s son Selma Subordinate Brock Kirk’s father Hope Subordinate Louisa Trey’s mother, deceased NOTABLE CHARACTERS FROM THE ONYX PACK: Lance Warner Alpha, father of Taryn Cecilia Warner Mother of Taryn, deceased Shaya Critchley Friend of Taryn Caleb Friend of Taryn Perry Enforcer Oscar Enforcer Joseph “Joey” Winters Died when only nine, believed to be Taryn’s mate Brodie Nicole Ashley Richie NOTABLE CHARACTERS FROM THE BJORN PACK: Rick Coleman Previous Alpha, father of Trey, deceased Darryl Coleman New Alpha, uncle of Trey Josh Brother of Dante Summer Died as a baby, believed to be Trey’s mate Viv Mother of Summer Martin NOTABLE CHARACTERS FROM THE RYLAND PACK: Nick Axton Alpha Don Uncle of Taryn Derren Nick’s bodyguard Glory OTHER CHARACTERS: Roscoe Weston Alpha wolf shifter who attempts to claim Taryn Dean Milton Mediator

Why do we hate one another?” he offers after a bit. I shrug, not even looking at him. “That’s very ignorant, even for you.” A snide layer slips into his tone. “What do you want me to say, Logan?” I eyeball him. “It’s just one of those things.” Oh, and yeah, I’ve stolen your girl, and my mother wants to end you sometime soon. “I remember what I thought of you the first time I saw you,” he continues. I’m expecting him to say how much he pitied poor bastard me. So, I’m almost knocked off my feet when he replies completely differently. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that you had taken something of mine. Something you had no right to. It’s lingered over the years, that all-consuming feeling. And I feel it now. What are you hiding, Axton? What do you have that’s mine?

Unlike normal parents, psychopaths do not encourage independence or self-confidence in their children. Instead, they work to undermine the child’s self-esteem, making derogatory comments about their skills or appearance. Any encouragement that a psychopath might offer is for their own ends and they will be the first to take credit for their child’s achievement. The last photo I have of my mother before she was diagnosed with cancer is the one I brought to her hospital room in Indianapolis in which she and my father are standing at my side as I proudly hold up an award for my research in childhood identity theft—work that was born from the decades of paranoia, fear, and financial ruin that she caused.

Unlike normal parents, psychopaths do not encourage independence or self-confidence in their children. Instead, they work to undermine the child’s self-esteem, making derogatory comments about their skills or appearance. Any encouragement that a psychopath might offer is for their own ends and they will be the first to take credit for their child’s achievement. The last photo I have of my mother before she was diagnosed with cancer is the one I brought to her hospital room in Indianapolis in which she and my father are standing at my side as I proudly hold up an award for my research in childhood identity theft—work that was born from the decades of paranoia, fear, and financial ruin that she caused. In it, my mother is so happy that she appears to be laughing.

Politics was an illusion of service that cloaked the corruption of power. It was lies, deceptions, self-interest, and self-aggrandizement: suitable work only for the mad and the venal and the naïve.

Desperately and immediately, he wanted them to be happy. May they be deeply in love, forever and ever, ex cetera, amen. At least if it was true love then the choking feeling in Axton's throat wouldn't be in vain. He could lose out to a grand and staggering love. His pain would be worth it if their love was the kind that time itself would stand still for, the type that made angels weep.

If this was the price of benefits, it was too high. He wanted his friend back, because that was a man worth taking an avalanche for.

Axton wouldn’t know subtle if it gently tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. Or, preferably, punched him in the loins.

Our house was built in 1952, so my closet wasn’t exactly roomy. I had hidden there before, when I was home alone during the summers. I parted my dress shirts and spun my body around, lowering my back against the wall. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I felt around for shoeboxes, stuffed animals—anything to conceal my feet and legs. And then I listened. I could hear the murmur of conversation; I could hear surprise, then outrage infusing my father’s muffles. I closed my eyes tightly and pressed my forehead to my knees. Please, I thought, please make this stop. And then it did stop. The conversation was done and I heard a car door slam, an engine start. I pushed my way through the tower of plush things and boxes, half crawling until I hit the hallway. “They were here to arrest you, Pam!” My father’s voice was as angry as I had heard it. “Check deception. Bad checks at the Portland Walmart.” That was impossible. Mom thought we were too good to be Walmart shoppers and often said as much, while lamenting there was nowhere else in Portland to buy clothes or household stuff.