Darker Shades Quotes

I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.

This is me, Ana. All of me...and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you.

I'm not going to die," she said. "Not till I've seen it." "Seen what?" Her smile widened. "Everything.

I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg.” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.

You love me,” I whisper. His eyes widen further and his mouth opens. He takes a huge breath as if winded. He looks tortured—vulnerable. “Yes,” he whispers. “I do.

You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs. I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing. “You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room. “And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.

I don't know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.

I wasn't aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating,

You’re the only person I’d fly three thousand miles to see.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

I thought I'd broken you." "Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite." He reaches out and takes my hand. "You're my lifeline'" he whispers.

Don’t leave me,” he whispers. “Oh, for crying out loud—no! I am not going to go!” I shout and it’s cathartic. There, I’ve said it. I am not leaving. “Really?” His eyes widen. “What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?” He gazes at me, revealing his fear and anguish again. He swallows. “There is one thing you can do.” “What?” I snap. “Marry me,” he whispers.

Are you on your own?" "No. There are six people staring at me right now wondering who the hell i'm talking to." shit..."Really?" I gasp, panicked. "Yes. Really. My girlfriend," he announces away from the phone. holy cow! "They probably all thought you were gay, you know.

For the ones who dream of stranger worlds.

Sure I do,” countered Lila cheerfully. “There’s Dull London, Kell London, Creepy London, and Dead London,” she recited, ticking them off on her fingers. “See? I’m a fast learner.

Hesitation is the death of advantage.

As Athera. To grow. As Pyrata. To burn. As Illumae. To light. As Orense. To open. As Anase. To dispel. As Hasari. To heal. As Travars. To Travel.

I hug him tightly. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Christian. I love you so much it frightens me.” “Me, too,” he breathes. “My life would be empty without you. I love you so much.

I'm anything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days, Ana. I'm in perpetual night here".

From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion. "Anastasia Steele, I love you. I want to love, cherish and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me".

You know so little of war. Battles may be fought from the outside in, but wars are won from the inside out.

Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive. Simple as that.

Let me love you," he says hoarsely. "Yes," I answer, and turning, he hauls me into his arms, his lips seeking mine, beseeching me, worshipping me, cherishing me...loving me.

I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep," he murmurs. "I might have loved you even then.

So you're my boss now," I snap. "Technically, I'm you're boss's boss's boss." "And technically, it's gross moral turpitude- the fact that i am fucking my boss's boss's boss." "At the moment, you're arguing with him." Christian scowls.

The bodies in my floor all trusted someone. Now I walk on them to tea.

Bad magic, Kell had called it. No, thought Lila now. Clever magic. And clever was more dangerous than bad any day of the week.

I love him. Simple.

Why, oh why have I fallen for someone who is plain crazy—beautiful, sexy as fuck, richer than Croesus, and crazy with a capital K?

We have to learn to walk before we can run

Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?" My mouth drops open. "Kinky fuckery?" I squeak. "Kinky fuckery." "I can't believe you said that.' "Well, I did. Answer me," he says calmly. I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended knee with her hands clasped in supplication begging me. "I like your kinky fuckery," I whisper.

Sweet Jesus, you're wearing stockings."--Christian Grey

A life worth having is a life worth taking.

Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always, Share my life with me. Marry me.

But the thing about people, Kell had discovered, is that they didn't really want to know. They thought they did, but knowing only made them miserable.

There's something about you Anastasia, that calls to me on some deep level I don't understand. It's a siren's call. I can't resist you, and I don't want to lose you.... don't run, please - have a little faith in me and a little patience please

He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time they were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people. For someone who never stood still, Lila felt like a pin in Kell's world. One he was sure to snag on.

We’ve chased the dawn, Anastasia, now the dusk.

P.S. I also note that you included the Stalker's Anthem "Every Breath You Take" I do enjoy our sense of humor, but does Dr. Flynn know?

But I'm a selfish man. I've wanted you since you fell into my office. You are exquisite, honest, warm, strong, witty, beguilingly innocent; the list is endless. I'm in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twisting in my dark soul.

No. No!” he says. “I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know. “You can’t go. Ana, I love you!” “I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—” “No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .” “No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What? “Christian, what are you doing?” He continues to stare down, not looking at me. “Christian! What are you doing?” My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant. Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.

You love strapping me in, don’t you?” “In any form,” he says, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “You are a pervert.” “I know.” He raises his eyebrows and his grin broadens. “My pervert,” I whisper. “Yes, yours.

When did I say I'd never leave?" "In your sleep, it was the most comforting thing I'd heard in so long.

Aren't you afraid of dying?" he asked Lila now. She looked at him as if it were a strange question. And then she shook her head. "Death comes for everyone," she said simply. "I'm not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of dying here." She swept her hand over the room, the tavern, the city. "I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.

You look more ready to storm a city than seduce a man.

Christian, you had me at the meadow.

I cannot be with someone who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on me, someone who can’t love me.

Lila Bard knew in her bones that she was meant to be a pirate.

Don't run, please-have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please.

I'm going to say hi to my girl now

His magic is powerful, intoxicating. I'm a butterfly caught in his net, unable and unwilling to escape. I'm his ....... totally his". (Ana to Christian)

A controlling man, surely a mythical creature?

i'm fifty shades of fucked up.

Looking for trouble, he'd say. You're gonna look til you find it. Trouble is the looker, she'd answer. It keeps looking till it finds you. Might as well find it first. Why do you want to die? I don't, she'd say. I just want to live.

He doesn’t look like a CEO—he looks like a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he’s so fucking sexy.

I would have told you earlier, but as it was your birthday . . . What do you give the man who has everything? I thought I’d give you . . . me.” He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and snuggles in beside me, pulling me into his arms against his chest so that we’re spooning. “It’s perfect. Like you.

There's a joy in my helplessness, joy in my surrender to him, and to know that he can lose himself in me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to these dark places, places I didn't know existed, and together we fill them with blinding light. Oh yes...blazing, blinding light." -Anastasia Steele

Time isn't the same for the mad and the blind.

Word of mouth was its own kind of magic.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

You're my lifeline," he whispers, and he kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his.

Well, Anastasia, my new motto is, 'If you can't beat'em, join'em

From: Christian Grey Subject: One more request Date: June 10, 2011 00:15 To: Anastasia Steele Dream of Me. x Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprise Holdings. Inc.

Lila Bard lived by a simple rule: if a thing was worth having, it was worth taking.

His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm.

But, you have needs." "I need you more.

You don’t play fair.' I pout. 'I know.

Oh, baby, we both know that if you throw down the gauntlet I'll be only too happy to pick it up".

I'm not going to die," she said. "Not till I've seen it." "Seen what?" Her smile widened. "Everything.

You said you loved me, is that now in the past tense?" "No, it's not." "Good.

Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fu*kery at all?

Whoa. I’ve never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice—of course. Hmm . . . has he heard me sing? He wouldn’t be asking you to marry him if he had! My subconscious has her arms crossed and is wearing Burberry check . . . jeez.

He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I love you Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine my life without you.

He sighs. "I want to give you the world, Anastasia." "I just want you, Christian. Not all the add-ons." "They're part of the deal. Part of what I am.

I see your pain. It's hard knowing that I'm the one that has made you feel this way.

Hi," he says. I manage to grunt in response, and his smile broadens. "Rude enough for you?" I nod and give him a reluctant grin. Jeez, any ruder and I'd have to spank the pair of us.

Do you want me to kiss you. Anastasia?" he whispers softly in my ear. "Yes," I breathe. "Where?" "Everywhere.

I'm in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twisting in my dark soul.

Are you ready ?" she asked, spinning the chamber. Kell gazed through the gate at the waiting castle. "No." At that, she offered him the sharpest edge of a grin. "Good," she said. "The ones who think they're ready always end up dead.

And soon you will be my wife to have and to hold... To love and to cherish... "With my body I will worship you." Christian Grey--Fifty Shades Darker, E.L.James

What! Sex in the car? Can't we just do it on the cool marble of the lobby floor...please?" Ana's thoughts

What are you?" she asked. "A monster," said Kell hoarsely. "You'd better let me go." The girl gave a small, mocking laugh. "Monsters don't faint in the presence of ladies." "Ladies don't dress like men and pick pockets," retorted Kell. Her smile only sharpened. "What are you really?" "Tied to your bed," said Kell matter-of-factly. "And?" His brow furrowed. "And in trouble.

I can't even escape him in my dreams.

Anastasia.” He answers immediately, his voice warm and caressing. How is it that this man can make me melt over the phone? “Christian, Jack has asked me to get his lunch.” “Lazy bastard,” Christian gripes.

I just want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.

He's like several different people in one body. Isn't that a symptom of schizophrenia? I must Google that.

I love you, Kell, but I had no interest in matching tattoos.

Your touch completely, it just means more...so much more.

Would you like something to eat?" I ask. He nods slowly. "Yes. You." he murmurs.

You have a house if not a home," she spat. "You have people who care for you if not about you. You may not have everything you want, but I'd wager you have everything you could ever need, and you have the audacity to claim it all forfeit because it is not love." "I--" "Love doesn't keep us from freezing to death, Kell," she continued, "or starving, or being knifed for the coins in our pocket. Love doesn't buy us anything, so be glad for what you have and who you have because you may want for things but you need nothing.

Delilah Bard,” she said. “We’ve met before. And you looked worse.” Rhy laughed silently. “I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg,” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.” Rhy broke into his perfect smile. “I like this one,” he said to Kell. “Can I borrow her?” “You can try,” said Lila, raising a brow. “But you’ll be a prince without his fingers.

Where did you get this?" he asked. "In a pocket in your coat," said Lila, stretching. "By the way, did you know that your coat is more than one coat? I'm pretty sure I went though five or six to find that." Kell stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?" she asked. "How did you know what it was for?" Lila shrugged. "I didn't." "What if it had been poison?" he snapped. "There's really no winning with you.

A fine idea,” said Rhy. “But no. We must go out, you see, because we’re on a mission.” “Oh?” asked Kell. “Yes. Because unless you plan to wed me yourself—and don’t get me wrong, I think we’d make a dashing pair—I must try and find a mate.

Kell wore a very peculiar coat. It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible. The first thing he did whenever he stepped out of one London and into another was take off the coat and turn it inside out once or twice (or even three times) until he found the side he needed. Not all of them were fashionable, but they each served a purpose. There were ones that blended in and ones that stood out, and one that served no purpose but of which he was just particularly fond.

I want you, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how.” “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” I whisper. His proximity is overwhelming, exhilarating. The familiar pull is there, all my synapses goading me toward him, my inner goddess at her most libidinous. Staring at the patch of hair in the V of his shirt, I bite my lip, helpless, driven by desire—I want to taste him there. He’s so close, but he doesn’t touch me. His heat is warming my skin. “I’m not going to touch you until you say yes,” he says softly. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.

This way,” he murmurs and abruptly is inside me once more, but he doesn’t start his usual punishing rhythm straight away. He leans over, releases my hands, and pulls me upright so I am practically sitting on him. His hands move up to my breasts, and he palms them both, tugging gently on my nipples. I groan, tossing my head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, biting down, as he flexes his hips, deliciously slowly, filling me again and again. “Do you know how much you mean to me?” he breathes against my ear. “No,” I gasp. He smiles against my neck, and his fingers curl around my jaw and throat, holding me fast for a moment. “Yes, you do. I’m not going to let you go.” I groan as he picks up speed. “You are mine, Anastasia.” “Yes, yours,” I pant. “I take care of what’s mine,” he hisses and bites my ear.

Cold?” Christian asks softly and bends to lick and suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot compared to the cool of the ice. Oh my. It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream runs off me in rivulets on to the bed. His lips continue their slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly—Oh please!—I’m panting. “Want some?” And before I can confirm or deny his offer, his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.

I gasp, and his mouth swoops down. He’s kissing me, violently. Briefly our teeth clash, then his tongue is in my mouth. Desire explodes like the Fourth of July throughout my body, and I’m kissing him back, matching his fervor, my hands knotting in his hair, pulling it, hard. He groans, a low sexy sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through me, and his hand moves down my body to the top of my thigh, his fingers digging into my flesh through the plum dress. I pour all the angst and heartbreak of the last few days into our kiss, binding him to me, and it hits me—in this moment of blinding passion—he’s doing the same, he feels the same.

Some thought magic came from the mind, others the soul, or the heart, or the will. But Kell knew it came from the blood. Blood was magic made manifest. There it thrived. And there it poisoned. Kell had seen what happened when power warred with the body, watched it darken in the veins of corrupted men, turning their blood from crimson to black. If red was the color of magic in balance—of harmony between power and humanity—then black was the color of magic without balance, without order, without restraint. As an Antari, Kell was made of both, balance and chaos; the blood in his veins, like the Isle of Red London, ran a shimmering, healthy crimson, while his right eye was the color of spilled ink, a glistening black.

The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum. Well crafted, obviously, with intricately carved woodwork edges and a perfectly painted face, but just a clock. But that is before it is wound. Before it begins to tick, the pendulum swinging steadily and evenly. Then, then it becomes something else. The changes are slow. First, the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. Meanwhile, bits of the body of the clock expand and contract, like pieces of a puzzle. As though the clock is falling apart, slowly and gracefully. All of this takes hours. The face of the clock becomes a darker grey, and then black, with twinkling stars where numbers had been previously. The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played. At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dress in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern. After midnight, the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the cloud returns. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes. By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.