Darling Venom Quotes

I knew myself well enough to know I didn’t survive books. They tore me to shreds. I’d never met an inanimate object as talented at breaking hearts as a book.

Adolescent love is the greatest pain of all. It teaches you the power other people have to destroy you.

Suicide is a war of two fears—fear of death and fear of the thing that pushes you toward it. The stronger side always wins. And if you lose, the penalty is death.

I wish I had cancer. Or some other grand battle. Dementia, stroke, organ failure. If I lose those fights, I’m brave. But the thing I’m battling is my mind. And if I lose, they’ll just call me weak.

She was broken. I was destroyed. This had disaster written all over it.

Pain is growth. Fear is risk. You can’t be happy if you’re not growing and taking risks.

This is the underside of my world. Of course you don’t want me to be stupid, bless you! you only want to make sure you’re intelligent. You don’t want me to commit suicide; you only want me to be gratefully aware of my dependency. You don’t want me to despise myself; you only want the flattering deference to you that you consider a spontaneous tribute to your natural qualities. You don’t want me to lose my soul; you only want what everybody wants, things to go your way; you want a devoted helpmeet, a self-sacrificing mother, a hot chick, a darling daughter, women to look at, women to laugh at, women to come for comfort, women to wash your floors and buy your groceries and cook your food and keep your children out of your hair, to work when you need the money and stay home when you don’t, women to be enemies when you want a good fight, women who are sexy when you want a good lay, women who don’t complain, women who don’t nag or push, women who don’t hate you really, women who know their job and above all—women who lose. On top of it all, you sincerely require me to be happy; you are naively puzzled that I should be wretched and so full of venom in this the best of all possible worlds. Whatever can be the matter with me? But the mode is more than a little outworn. As my mother once said: the boys throw stones at the frogs in jest. But the frogs die in earnest.

My love, my darling, not a day goes by when I don’t remember,” he murmurs hoarsely.

Don’t shrink yourself to help others grow.

Tears are the language of grief. And grief is the language of love.

It was a promise I shouldn’t have made. One that defied the hardest lesson I’d ever learned. Love is expensive. Its currency is grief. And sometimes, it costs more than you can afford.

you are breathing, and it is beautiful, and i am so grateful for that

if we could just stay this way forever, maybe it wouldn't hurt to breathe

Because that was what we were, essentially. Authors of our own stories.

They say love is ten percent falling and ninety percent picking yourself back up. What they never tell you is how quick that ten percent passes and how long that ninety percent lasts.

Love is just being there for someone. It’s that simple.

Falling in love makes you feel immortal. Don’t you want that?

I’d never met an inanimate object as talented at breaking hearts as a book.

She tasted like sweet venom. Warm and cottony and dreamlike. Deadly toxic. Gorgeously addictive.

Opportunity lasts a moment. Regret lasts a lifetime

I wasn’t concerned about your sex life because you were a patient,” he said casually. “I’m concerned about it because I want to fuck your brains out until you lose the ability to walk straight. Unfortunately for me.

She uncurled my fingers one by one and pressed my palm to my heart. “Hatred comes from here. When you hate someone, a piece of them is lodged in your heart. If you don’t let the hate go, you live with that person inside you forever.

there was something perpetually tragic about us. even in moments of peace. we were two empty planets, bound by grief and a gravitational pull neither of us could deny. destined to collide and end in a fiery death.

i am infront of you, around you, in your head. and i'm here to stay

Here’s a life lesson I’d never wanted to learn. Our secrets are nothing but a string of memories we wish to forget.

You're breathing, Charlie. You are breathing, and it is beautiful, and I am so grateful for that.

It was the first moment I let myself admit I wanted to be fucked by Dr. Tatum Marchetti. Ruthlessly hard and mercilessly filthy.

Grief is a side effect of love. It lasts as long as the love lasts. You get used to the pain until you’re reminded it’s there.

The problem with books about suicide is they’re written by people who are alive.

It was difficult to reconcile the existence of fairness when Tate Marchetti had been born with an assault rifle for a cock. Thick, hard, and longer than should be legal.

If you keep staring at my cock with your mouth open like that, I’m going to take it as an invitation to enter.” My mouth watered. “Please, do.

Lawless could have used many suitable and decent lies to validate what he was doing. Hadn’t he lived by that truth many times over already? Oh, yes. A monster knew the way around a good lie enough to swallow it like venom. But there was no lie here worth shit.

Ob-gyns don’t have the best dirty talk game in the world, huh?”My back was to Tate when he answered me. “Bet you all the pennies in your cheap little purse that I can make you drip cum on my face in less than ten seconds—before I even use my tongue or cock.

her presence soothed me where i normally burned

I feel like your soul and mine are made of the same stuff.

This is not the beginning of something,” Kellan warned. “If anything, it’s the end.

They say time dulls the pain. They lie.

she tasted like sweet venom. warm and cottony and dream-like. deadly toxic. gorgeously addictive

He smelled of beer and leather and cigarettes and trouble. Like a bad boy.

realized, with depressing clarity, that she wasn’t the venom at all. She was the antidote. But the quantities were all off.

More importantly—she was finally coming to terms with the cover she’d been dealt with in life and remembering what the most important part of the book was. The spine.

There was nothing to say. The final crack to the mirror had been dealt. We couldn’t fix it. We were irreparably damaged.

My pinky brushed his. I stuck it out, letting it drag along his skin before retreating. His bumped mine. Was it sad that I considered this foreplay?

That was the thing about despair. It built up like a Jenga tower. Higher and higher, on shaky ground. One bad move, and you were toast.

Dementia, stroke, organ failure. If I lose those fights, I’m brave. But the thing I’m battling is my mind. And if I lose, they’ll just call me weak.

When I sleep, I dream. When I wake, the nightmare begins.

Living is an addiction, and it’s better to crave it than hate it.

People fall in love every day. Good people. Bad people. All the colors in between. They love fast, and hard, and deeply. And sometimes, they are lucky enough to be loved back.

Even the devil needs a friend.

any pleasure worth having is always laced with a bit of pain.

You can’t love someone who doesn’t love herself.

Pain and scars are the armor beauty wears.

Here’s the thing about disappointment. It means you expected something.

If I had to boycott assholes out of my artistic menu, I’d be starved for movies, books, and songs.

Lies hurt. Truth slays.

We weren’t even acquaintances. Just two passing strangers who happened to be mourning the same person.

« See you in the next life. Maybe we’ll actually be brothers in that one. »

Love is expensive. Its currency is grief. And sometimes, it costs more than you can afford.

He will stab you in the heart, then ask you why it hurts so much.

I fell down on my knees. My hands hit the concrete, and I felt something. I picked it up, squeezing it in my hand. A penny. He’d left me a gift. His very own version of goodbye.

Just the tip,” she bargained, and never in the history of Planet Fucking Earth has it ever been just the tip.

They say time dulls the pain. They lie. Guilt is pain’s fuel, and it rekindles it every time the flame fades.

I’d never met an inanimate object as talented at breaking hearts as a book.

Guilt is pain’s fuel, and it rekindles it every time the flame fades.

He did, because he gave me the most wonderful gift before he died. He gave me Venom.

If books were men, they would be the player who dated all the Jessicas in the tri-state area, cheated on you with your best friend, and dumped you for your sister through a text message.

Dear Julie: If I didn't feel that there is some good in your story, I wouldn't take the time to write a criticism of it. But there is some good in it, some points that make me feel that if you expend the effort(Look who's talking about expending the effort, I couldn't help thinking) you may well achieve your very worthy ambition. First of all, you have an ear for cadence. Your sentences flow rather smoothly, and the continuity of your paragraphs is quite good. Secondly, your imagery is sharp and clear-cut. I could smell that dank, rat-infested attic and I was more than a little in love with your pretty heroine by the time she emerged from her third paragraph. Furthermore, you occasionally achieve poetic effects which are pleasing. But, my darling niece, your villains have nothing but venom in their souls, and your sympathetic characters are ready to step right off into Paradise without one spot to tarnish their purity. People aren't like that, Julie. Take a look around you. Again, all your colors, your moods, your nusances, are essentially feminine, and it just doesn't ring true to be told that a man is responsible for them. No, Julie, it will be a long time before you speak and think and feel like an anguished old German musician of eighty! And, after all, what do you know about the problems of musical composition, or the life of an impoverised German laborer such as the landlord in his nineteenth-century environment? And how much do you know about sadism and brutality? I must talk to you about any number of points. When you get home from school tomorrow, I shall have some recommendations to make; also some assignments. I am quite excited. It well may be that I have the making of a future writer in my hands. Uncle Haskell

No, it’s not. It’s about your fear. Your inability to lose control. You’ve always been the person others depend on, and now it’s your turn to depend on me. It scares you. You don’t want to tell me you love me because you think it gives me power over you.

A morsel of what I wanted to happen flashed behind my lids. Us. Tangled in the jungle gym. Screwing on the swings. Him, eating me out on the slide. I needed to run straight to my room, do fifty Hail Marys, and bathe in holy water. This was the playground I brought Jonah’s daughter to once a week. I’d never be able to play with Rowling there again.

She was falling back into life. Rewriting those bad chapters. More importantly—she was finally coming to terms with the cover she’d been dealt with in life and remembering what the most important part of the book was. The spine.

Hopelessness surged inside me. It was like watching the saddest movie you’d ever seen, knowing you couldn’t change the plot.

He stole my breath. Ripped it right out of my chest and took it as his.

real apology isn’t given with the intention of healing yourself. That’s just a side effect.

i believed a special place existed somewhere for people who were so tortured on Earth, they felt the only way out was to end it all. a place where they got to experience everything they missed out on in this place. love. happiness. relief

you

Agreeing to disagree was the only thing we ever agreed on.

I’ve hit rock bottom.” “Rock is one of the best foundations to build on.

No need to make a note of that. I’m not attached to my hymen or anything.” I paused. “I mean, spiritually. Physically, I am. Still.

Because that was what we were, essentially. Authors of our own stories. A curveball in the form of a dark twist had spilled onto Leah’s story, an ink-stained hole in her happily ever after, but she could still turn a corner.

Hearing that someone else is going through something shitty is comforting. Even the devil needs a friend.

I wrapped her in a vise grip and thought, if we could just stay this way forever, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to breathe.

I realized, with depressing clarity, that she wasn’t the venom at all. She was the antidote. But the quantities were all off.

Opportunity lasts a moment. Regret lasts a lifetime.

Why’d you lie?” “Because… I don’t know. Lies hurt. Truth slays.

You share your body with your demons, and they’re hungry. Let me feed them.

Because that was what we were, essentially. Authors of our own stories. A curveball in the form of a dark twist had spilled onto Leah’s story, an ink-stained hole in her happily ever after, but she could still turn a corner. A page. She could still ride into the sunset with the prince with the shining tattoo sleeve. Not on a horse, but on a Harley.

Hatred comes from here. When you hate someone, a piece of them is lodged in your heart. If you don’t let the hate go, you live with that person inside you forever.

Scars are supposed to heal. You’re not supposed to pick at the scab.

I believed a special place existed somewhere for people who were so tortured on Earth, they felt the only way out was to end it all. A place where they got to experience everything they missed out on in this plane. Love. Happiness. Relief.

They say time dulls the pain. They lie. Guilt is pain’s fuel, and it rekindles it every time the flame fades.

Of love. Grief is a side effect of love. It lasts as long as the love lasts. You get used to the pain until you’re reminded it’s there. That’s how it always works.

types of love—easy and tough. Easy love is just like breathing. Anyone can do it. But tough love? It hurts way more to give it than it does to receive it.

signs of depression. There were eight key things to look out for: hopelessness loss of interest fatigue and changes in sleep patterns anxiety irritability changes in appetite and weight uncontrollable emotions, and… suicidal ideation.

breathe and bleed.

Of love. Grief is a side effect of love. It lasts as long as the love lasts. You get used to the pain until you’re reminded it’s there. That’s how it always works. What you need is a distraction.” “What I need is a cure.” “Cures have side effects, too, doc. And some conditions? Well… they’re incurable.

Why the fuck is time irreversible? They say you learn from your mistakes, but it’s pointless if you’ll never be in a position to apply that lesson again. What a goddamn lie.

true love is an uncontrollable habit, like breathing. We are born with the capacity for it, so when it happens, it’s easy.

What’s selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.”—David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

I guess people have two faces: the face the world sees, and the face they see in the mirror.

Why the fuck is time irreversible?