Bottom Eddie Quotes

She said no, okay?" All the eyes that had been on me suddenly jerked toward Adrian. He leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Sonya and Dimitri, and I saw something in those pretty eyes I'd never seen before: anger. They were like emerald fire. "How many times does she have to refuse?" Adrian demanded. "If she doesn't want to, then that's all there's to it. This has nothing to do with her. This is our science project. She's here to protect Jill and has plenty to do there. So stop harassing her already!"" "Harassing is kind of a strong word," Dimitri said, calm in the face of Adrian's outburst. "Not when you keep pushing someone who wants to be left alone," countered Adrian. He shot me a concerned look before fixing his anger back on Sonya and Dimitri. "Stop ganging up on her." Sonya glanced uncertainly between us. She looked legitimately hurt. As astute as she was, I don't think she'd realized how much this bothered me. "Adrian... Sydney... we aren't trying to upset anyone. We just really want to get to the bottom of this. I thought all of you did too. Sydney's always been so supportive. "It doesn't matter," growled Adrian. "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.

A real panic took hold of me. I didn't know where I was going. I ran along the docks, turned into the deserted streets in the Beauvoisis district; the houses watched my flight with their mournful eyes. I repeated with anguish: Where shall I go? where shall I go? Anything can happen. Sometimes, my heart pounding, I made a sudden right about turn: what was happening behind my back? Maybe it would start behind me and when I would turn around, suddenly, it would be too late. As long as I could stare at things nothing would happen: I looked at them as much as I could, pavements, houses, gaslights; my eyes went rapidly from one to the other, to catch them unawares, stop them in the midst of their metamorphosis. They didn't look too natural, but I told myself forcibly: this is a gaslight, this is a drinking fountain, and I tried to reduce them to their everyday aspect by the power of my gaze. Several times I came across barriers in my path: the Cafe des Bretons, the Bar de la Marine. I stopped, hesitated in front of their pink net curtains: perhaps these snug places had been spared, perhaps they still held a bit of yesterday's world, isolated, forgotten. But I would have to push the door open and enter. I didn't dare; I went on. Doors of houses frightened me especially. I was afraid they would open of themselves. I ended by walking in the middle of the street. I suddenly came out on the Quai des Bassins du Nord. Fishing smacks and small yachts. I put my foot on a ring set in the stone. Here, far from houses, far from doors, I would have a moment of respite. A cork was floating on the calm, black speckled water. "And under the water? You haven't thought what could be under the water." A monster? A giant carapace? sunk in the mud? A dozen pairs of claws or fins labouring slowly in the slime. The monster rises. At the bottom of the water. I went nearer, watching every eddy and undulation. The cork stayed immobile among the black spots.

Henry said, and sat up. His hands clawed at the air, as if for holds which only Henry could see. His gouged eye leaked and dribbled; its bottom arc now bulged pregnantly down onto his cheek. He looked around, saw Eddie shrinking back against the wall, and tried

Do you want the other news?” Roshar tentatively asked. No. Arin was suddenly sure that he did not want to hear it, would not be able to bear it. He felt a sinking dread. Your…” Roshar stumbled. A chicken feather lifted in a sudden breeze and eddied along the base of the well. “Arin, Kestrel’s dead.” His ears were ringing. He felt as if he’d fallen into the well. He heard Roshar’s voice from far away. The words tumbled down to him. “It was recent,” Roshar said. “A disease. While she was away from the capital, traveling with the prince. The whole empire is in mourning.” “That’s not true.” Roshar said something. Arin couldn’t hear him. He was at the bottom of the well. The water closed over his head, cold and black.

With hardly a pause she moved on again, questing. Next it was a small fish . . . then another frog . . . and then a real prize: a water-rat that squeaked and writhed and tried to bite. She crushed the life out of it and stuffed it into her mouth, paws and all. A moment later she bent her head down and regurgitated the waste – a twisted mass of fur and splintered bones. Show him this, then – always assuming that he and Jake get back from whatever adventure they’re on, that is. And say, ‘I know that women are supposed to have strange cravings when they carry a child, Eddie, but doesn’t this seem a little too strange? Look at her, questing through the reeds and ooze like some sort of human alligator. Look at her and tell me she’s doing that in order to feed your child. Any human child.’ Still he would argue. Roland knew it. What he didn’t know was what Susannah herself might do when Roland told her she was growing something that craved raw meat in the middle of the night. And as if this business wasn’t worrisome enough, now there was todash. And strangers who had come looking for them. Yet the strangers were the least of his problems. In fact, he found their presence almost comforting. He didn’t know what they wanted, and yet he did know. He had met them before, many times. At bottom, they always wanted the same thing.

that my client held the bag by the handles. Your Honor, this is the last straw – so to speak.” Judge Parks put a hand up. He’d heard enough from me. He turned in his seat and directed his attention to Norm. “Mr. Folkes, I’ve examined this bag, and the straw with the actual items located in the bottom of the sack. I am not satisfied that Detective Granger could have seen a straw protruding from the top of this bag. On that basis, there is no probable cause for his search, and all evidence gathered as a result is inadmissible. Including the straw. I am concerned, to say the least, at the recent trend among some officers in classifying soda straws and other innocuous items as drug paraphernalia. Be that as it may, you have no evidence to support an arrest and I am dismissing all charges. I’m sure you had a lot to say to me, Mr. Folkes, but there’s no point – I’m afraid, you’re too damn late.” Jean hugged my neck, partially strangling me in the process. I patted her arm, gently, and she let go. She may not want to hug me when she gets my bill. The judge and his staff got up and left the courtroom. Granger stormed out, shooting me with his index finger as he left. It didn’t bother me, I was used to it. “So when can I expect you to file an appeal,” I said to Norm. “Not

I was dead and drowned. I lay on the bottom of the fishhouse creek looking up at the night sky through a low tide. I could make out amber lights of stars and the moon dulled by the peat water of the creek. I was a carcass comfortable in the cool shifting underwater eddies.

What's green, weighs a hundred tons, and lives at the bottom of the ocean? Moby Snot, the Great Green Whale.

Lucien grabbed hold of her, dragged her back against the bookcase and trapped her with his body. He fisted a hand through the loose coils of her hair, dragging her head back. Her eyes rose to meet his. A hunger churned in his gaze, swirling in eddies of changing colors. “Tell me to let go of you,” he begged in a ragged whisper. “Tell me.” She stared at him, unable to voice a protest. “Christ. I’m not a saint, woman. I can’t… Oh to hell with it.” The warmth of his breath tickled her lips before he devoured her neck in a slow languid kiss. Pools of wet heat built up between her legs and his tongue flicked out against her skin as he tasted her. She moaned. Lucien slid his hand down over her bottom, catching her in his grasp, jerking her hard against his stiff shaft. Her legs shook against him, loose and unprotesting as he parted them with his thigh. He dragged her up the length of his leg so her toes barely touched the ground. The movement sent shockwaves of excitement through her and made her inhale sharply. Her hands fell to his shoulders, seeking to hold on to him. His lips found hers again and her palms skated up his neck into his hair, the strands whispering over her skin. She dug her fingers in and tugged on his hair. He growled deep in his throat and kissed her harder. -Lucien & Horatia

What turns a man into a murderer? At which moment does anger over a historical injustice blend into another resentment that’s more ancient, private, shameful because nobody else shares it, and make this man put his hand on a detonator? When does his desire to obtain what he considers the general Good become indifference to specific Evil committed in the name of that same Good? What makes him capable of breaking the most important of prohibitions which, like a wall, divides the human consortium into those who have killed even just once, and those who haven’t? What that man needs above all else is absolute conviction, or rather a state of mind that has become cold, silent and motionless like a winter lake, in which pity no longer flows except downwards, downwards in dark and invisible eddies which may barely stir the light pebbles at the bottom, but not the icy slate on the surface.