Drake Book Quotes

The truth is I do love you. Admitting that means opening myself up to all that pain when you leave. After you realize this wasn’t love, but gratitude.

I read a lot. I love books. If they came in a bottle, I'd be a drunk too.

Hart and Hope,” I muttered. “If you’re going to name your kids like that, of course they’re going to think they live in a comic book.

You look like you belong in a bad comic book,” I told him cheerfully. ---------------------- “What did the Drakes do that’s got you all pissy?” “Pissy? Did you just call me pissy?

I couldn't convince her that if I had a book with me, I wasn't lonely.

I paused, folding the top corner of the page to keep my place. My dad used to wince every time he saw me do that, but I think books should be loved to pieces. They should be as worn and soft as flannel." "Chapter 2 Christabel, page 24

And I am ashamed to write here that I felt more alive than ever, even though my heart was broken glass in my chest.

The purpose of collecting so much information can only be power.

Adventure is somebody else in deep shit, far, far away,

He was hurt. He was a man who needed a country. I was a woman who needed a man. I’d be his country. He’d be my dictator. I saw our future unfold like a history book.

Ian once suggested that in addition to the mystery stickers and the sci-fi and animal ones, there should be special stickers for books with happy endings, books with sad endings, books that will trick you into reading the next in the series. 'There should be ones with big teardrops,' he said, 'like for the side of Where the Red Fern Grows. Because otherwise it isn't fair. Like maybe you're accidentally reading it in public, and then everyone will make fun of you for crying.' But what could I affix to the marvelous and perplexing tale of Ian Drake? A little blue sticker with a question mark, maybe. Crossed fingers. A penny in a fountain.

Privilege implies exclusion from privilege, just as advantage implies disadvantage," Celine went on. "In the same mathematically reciprocal way, profit implies loss. If you and I exchange equal goods, that is trade: neither of us profits and neither of us loses. But if we exchange unequal goods, one of us profits and the other loses. Mathematically. Certainly. Now, such mathematically unequal exchanges will always occur because some traders will be shrewder than others. But in total freedom—in anarchy—such unequal exchanges will be sporadic and irregular. A phenomenon of unpredictable periodicity, mathematically speaking. Now look about you, professor—raise your nose from your great books and survey the actual world as it is—and you will not observe such unpredictable functions. You will observe, instead, a mathematically smooth function, a steady profit accruing to one group and an equally steady loss accumulating for all others. Why is this, professor? Because the system is not free or random, any mathematician would tell you a priori. Well, then, where is the determining function, the factor that controls the other variables? You have named it yourself, or Mr. Adler has: the Great Tradition. Privilege, I prefer to call it. When A meets B in the marketplace, they do not bargain as equals. A bargains from a position of privilege; hence, he always profits and B always loses. There is no more Free Market here than there is on the other side of the Iron Curtain. The privileges, or Private Laws—the rules of the game, as promulgated by the Politburo and the General Congress of the Communist Party on that side and by the U.S. government and the Federal Reserve Board on this side—are slightly different; that's all. And it is this that is threatened by anarchists, and by the repressed anarchist in each of us," he concluded, strongly emphasizing the last clause, staring at Drake, not at the professor.

Hart and Hope,"I muttered."If you're going to name your kids like that, of course they're going to think they live in a comic book." Although I had to admit Hart was handsome,practically debonair. His hair was threaded with silver and freakishly messy."Okay, he's totally got that yummy secret agent thing going on." Nicholas scowled at me. I didn't have to turn my head to look at him to feel his eyes burning

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,” “Gentlemen-Rankers,” Barrack Room Ballads by Rudyard Kipling

Why are you going to the library?” he asked. “There’s these things called books, made of parchment and leather. Yeah, you might like them if they have dead animal hide!

Logic wasn't the governing factor here. It rarely is in human affairs.

Griffin Drake and his MacBook were the best of friends, more intimate than lovers. He slept with it. He cared for it with specially made cleaning cloths and cans of air to keep it dust free. Plants and fish had died under his watch with alarming regularity, but the computer-the computer was tended like a child.

This book tells the story of that moment in time. It is a story of high adventure set during the age of exploration—when Francis Drake, Henry Hudson, and Captain John Smith were expanding the boundaries of the world, and Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Galileo, Descartes, Mercator, Vermeer, Harvey, and Bacon were revolutionizing human thought and expression.

Some smutty book. It had great reviews online, but eh. I’m like over a hundred pages in and I kind of just want them to fuck now.

The old moves come back. Dick always went off-book. Jason hated practicing them. But Tim… he loved it. The teamwork. We had each other’s backs.

Dogs don’t need philosophies, they just fight. It seems to me that men do the same, though they usually come up with reasons. Justice is a good one.

Demons find all kinds of people.” Her eyes darkened. “Just because I don’t share them doesn’t mean they aren’t running right alongside my life.

So long as authority comes only from having a hand on a throat, wisdom and mercy are a moot point.

The universe is unyielding, uncaring, unforgiving, and steadfast in its complete indifference to the agony living creatures endure. It is no one’s fault, it is it the nature of life.

Shakespeare was not even able to perform a function that we consider today as perfectly normal and ordinary a function as reading itself. He could not, as the saying goes, “look something up.” Indeed the very phrase—when it is used in the sense of “searching for something in a dictionary or encyclopedia or other book of reference”—simply did not exist. It does not appear in the English language, in fact, until as late as 1692, when an Oxford historian named Anthony Wood used it. Since there was no such phrase until the late seventeenth century, it follows that there was essentially no such concept either, certainly not at the time when Shakespeare was writing—a time when writers were writing furiously, and thinkers thinking as they rarely had before. Despite all the intellectual activity of the time there was in print no guide to the tongue, no linguistic vade mecum, no single book that Shakespeare or Martin Frobisher, Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh, Francis Bacon, Edmund Spenser, Christopher Marlowe, Thomas Nash, John Donne, Ben Jonson, Izaak Walton, or any of their other learned contemporaries could consult.

Isn't this exactly why you chose not to contest my claim?" "Damn straight. I don't have your touch for diplomacy." Doc barked out a laugh. "If you think Drake's diplomatic, my boy, it's a good thing you're his second. I'd hate to see what you'd consider diplomacy.

When a mere girl, my mother offered me a dollar if I would read the Bible through; . . . . despairing of reconciling many of its absurd statements with even my childish philosophy, . . . I became a sceptic, doubter, and unbeliever, long ere the 'Good Book' was ended.

Drake growled against her mouth. Ria's body felt as if it were a flame. When Drake made that sound, she melted for him. Something about that rumble that began in his chest caressed every nerve in her body, making her want more. He pushed her shirt up and began to nip at her belly.

Drake's eyes opened, and Ria felt her heart rate pick up. Gently, he removed her hand and backed off the bed to shed his jeans in record time. Commando. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. He crooked an eyebrow at her. "I'm not going to be the only one naked here.

I glanced around the table and found Kyan staring down at the table. I knew for a fact he wasn’t sleeping, not here among such others – he was far too cautious for that. I smiled to myself when I saw the edge of a page as it turned – typical of him to be reading at a banquet that all territories would kill to attend.

His wolf was triumphant. At last, she recognized him. He scented her panic and swooped in, determined to nip it in the bud. His hand closed on her neck. The curls at her nape tickled his palm Drake wrapped her ponytail around his fist as she tried to back away. A brief warning growl left his lips as they covered hers in a soul-sering kiss.

His wolf was triumphant. At last, she recognized him. He scented her panic and swooped in, determined to nip it in the bud. His hand closed on her neck. The curls at her nape tickled his palm Drake wrapped her ponytail around his fist as she tried to back away. A brief warning growl left his lips as they covered hers in a soul-searing kiss.

Several days later I decided to go on a good long jog, trusting that Chip would not leave Drake again. As I was on my way back I saw Chip coming down the road in his truck with the trailer on it. He rolled up to me with his window down and said, “Baby, you’re doing so good. I’m heading to work now. I’ve got to go.” I looked in the back, thinking, Of course, he’s got Drake. But I didn’t see a car seat. “Chip, where’s Drake?” she said, and I was like, “Oh, shoot!” She took off without a word and ran like lightning all the way back to the house as I turned the truck around. She got there faster on foot than I did in my truck. I sure hope no one from Child Protective Services reads this book. They can’t come after me retroactively, can they?

To get things going he dispatched a man named Edwin Drake—always referred to in history books as “Colonel” Edwin Drake—to Titusville with instructions to drill. Drake had no expertise in drilling and was not a colonel. He was a railroad conductor who had lately been forced to retire through ill health. His sole advantage to the enterprise was that he still possessed a railroad pass and could travel to Pennsylvania for free.

Several days later I decided to go on a good long jog, trusting that Chip would not leave Drake again. As I was on my way back I saw Chip coming down the road in his truck with the trailer on it. He rolled up to me with his window down and said, “Baby, you’re doing so good. I’m heading to work now. I’ve got to go.” I looked in the back, thinking, Of course, he’s got Drake. But I didn’t see a car seat. “Chip, where’s Drake?” she said, and I was like, “Oh, shoot!” She took off without a word and ran like lightning all the way back to the house as I turned the truck around. She got there faster on foot than I did in my truck. I sure hope no one from Child Protective Services reads this book. They can’t come after me retroactively, can they? Chip promised it would never happen again. So the third time I attempted to take a run, I went running down Third Street and made it all the way home. I walked in, and Chip and Drake were gone. I thought, Oh, good. Finally he remembered to take the baby. But then I noticed his car was still parked out front. I looked around and couldn’t find them anywhere. Moments later, Chip pulled up on his four-wheeler--with Drake bungee-strapped to the handlebars in his car seat. “Chip!” I screamed, “What in the heck are you doing?” “Oh, he was crying, and I’d always heard my mom say she would drive me around the neighborhood when I was a baby, and it made me feel better,” Chip said. “He loved it. He fell right to sleep.” “He didn’t love it, Chip. He probably fell asleep because the wind in his face made it impossible to breathe.” I didn’t go for another run for the whole first year of Drake’s life, and I took him to the shop with me every single day. Some people might see that as a burden, but I have to admit I loved it. Having him in that BabyBjörn was the best feeling in the world. Drake was a shop baby. He would come home every night smelling like candles. We had friends who owned a barbecue joint, and their baby always came home smelling like a rack of ribs. I liked Drake’s smell a whole lot better.

Carafa, as Pope Paul IV, established the Index of Forbidden Books, banned all women from entering the Vatican, burnt volumes of Talmud and Kabbalah, threw the Jews of Rome into the ghetto, drained the Church’s savings while overtaxing the faithful in order to enrich his nephews and mistress, tortured and burned homosexuals in public, ordained two nephews (ages fourteen and sixteen) as cardinals, and banned the potato—recently brought to Europe from the New World by Sir Francis Drake—as a fruit of lust sent by Satan.

You have got to stop writing in the library books," Tyson said. "I will if you stop looking at me like I just kicked a kitten," I replied, sliding the offending book away from him. "I couldn't help it. Someone needs to edit these things." He sat back in the library chair. "Yeah, they're called editors and they already did that." I snorted. "Please. I could drive a truck through the holes in your education." "We're here about your education, not mine." He actually lowered his forehead to bang it on the table. The librarian sent me a stern glance. "What?" I said. "I'm not the one giving myself a lobotomy.

I was pregnable once,” Merill thought to contribute. She remembered how troublesome it made getting around, having a ripe belly. Couldn’t roll properly, couldn’t hop properly, couldn’t romp or flop properly. There were the cravings for roasted cabbage—she loathed cabbage, with its leaves and growing in rows. And labor! Merill passed out during childbirth. She’d endured burns, lacerations, rips, serrated teeth, nails, hooks and a trove of unmentionable harm-inflictors. Labor trounced them all and wriggled gleefully in the spray of blood and gore. “Being pregnable is no good. No good at all. Like growing a bitter melon in your belly.

I eyed her. "You know I hang out with vampires, right? You could be scared of me like the others." She scoffed. "You and your pretty boys don't scare me." Jenna's mocking tone was soothing. If it wasn't for her and Hunter and Chloe, this whole transition thing would have been even worse. "Shush," I scolded her primly. "I am learning about the weirdo League of hunters who think they're in a comic book." "Your family now too." I drew back, horrified. "Excuse me, but after my parents, the Drakes are family. You lot are riffraff." "The riffiest." "That's not a word." "Is so." "What's it mean?" Jenna glanced at Tyson. "Help me out here, Ty. You're the smart one." He just shook his head. "Are you two always like this?" Jenna and I exchanged mischievous smiles. "We're just getting started. But I think we might be," I said.

Let's start with the basics." He pulled a worn Helios-Ra guidebook of the top of the pile of books next to his laptop. "You got one of these in your orientation packet, right?" "I already had a copy," I replied. I'd picked Kieran's pocket this summer for it, to be precise. I had my own profile in the cream-colored pages. Tyson flushed. "Oh. Right. I forgot you're in it." "I'm famous," I agreed blandly. "Just this morning someone locked me in a bathroom stall." He flushed even redder. "Are you blushing?" He cleared his throat. "No." I grinned. "You are adorable." "Uh ..." "Relax, I'm dating the undead, remember." "Stop teasing poor Tyson," Jenna said from behind me. I tilted my head to look up at her. "But it's fun." Jenna hiked her hip on the table and swung her sneaker-clad foot. "You're going to give him a coronary." We both turned to grin at him, waiting for his retort. He just looked slightly nauseated.

wrong.

Raul did was to allow the Cuban people to be able to purchase electronic goods, use tourist hotels and beaches and rent cars. He also lifted certain restrictions for farmers. Things are still hard for most Cubans though. Did you know most taxi driver’s earn more than doctors. I earn considerably more than a doctor. Cuban people still have rations and ration books that allow them to purchase items at national prices.

the

You may stand the man easy General.

Any trouble?”  He asked.   "No, sir.  A few people turned up so we naturalized them and stuck them in a room down the hall.

with a shout of, “Why the fuck didn’t you call me, you dumb bitch?” I laugh and extract myself from her arms and, more regrettably, from Drake’s warm, large hands at my waist. My arms for once empty of files, I sink into the

A mix from the book: "Aren't you going to tell me why you're leaving?" Drake asked. He wasn't growling at her anymore. His voice was as gentle as she supposed one could make gravel." "I know, but seeing as you view yourself as human, I decided that I have to court you before I can claim you as my mate." "What, and have you pissed off at me? No thanks. I'd like to have my mate happy." She still had her purse on her shoulder. "Spend the day with me?

Canines! They do not appreciate the fine art of sarcasm!

Soon China would be the most powerful and wealthy country in the world and America would drown in the cesspool it had made of itself. 18.

She just sent out the last group of demon grunts for the night,” he told us casually. “Good,” Drake sighed getting up and dusting himself off. Isaiah stared at him oddly and pointed, “what’s up with your face?” “I don’t want to talk about it,” the one-eyed demon retorted. Already uptight by the presence of the black angel. Without more words to share, Drake passed him with a rough shove.

My face twisted awkwardly “distract?” I repeated confused. “How am I meant to do that? It’s not like he’s going to sit around and wait, and I doubt I can call for a time out mid-fight.” “Well, you can try fighting him directly again, but you didn’t do so well the first time.” Drake then looked me over up and down, “you could always try your womanly ways on him.” More of a joke than a suggestion. I narrowed my eyes at him, not amused with his jokes. “You want me to seduce that armoured demon with my womanly ways? I’m probably as seductive as a dirt-covered potato can get,” I muttered irritated. “What do you take me for anyway? I didn’t train for seven years for this, there’s no way I could do that, even if my life depended on it! I would never do something like that anyhow. It would be a new low in how pathetic I can look.

Don’t be an idiot, Drake. I’m more than capable of enough poor decision-making on my own,” I reminded him. “I don’t need you falling victim to my half-assed decisions today.” A smile tugged at his lips, and before I knew it, he’d had his arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer against him. I was fast, but he was faster. Much faster, it seemed. “You don’t get to make my mind up for me, Harley. I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.” “Well then, perhaps you should learn to make some good ones.” Drake tightened his grasp on my waist and dropped his head so that our foreheads touched. I felt the heat of his breath on my lips as he opened his mouth to speak. “Whatever happens to you today, I’m going to be there by your side. No matter what.” “Don’t be a creep,” I teased. Truthfully, though, I actually wanted him there. It was stupid, and I knew as much. I needed to retain a distance between us; I needed to keep him safe, no matter what. And yet, I needed him to be there for me because I was terrified of what awaited me.

He used his free hand to grab a hold of my chin and lift my face to his. His eyes were locked onto mine as though he had discovered the most important thing in his life. Me. “I don’t want to give you up,” he said before pressing his lips to mine. At first, I hesitated. I wanted this. I wanted him. But I knew I needed to keep my thoughts clear. Well, that and I was still fearful of allowing things between us to become much of anything more because the idea of giving him so much of myself was unsettling. I was still figuring out who I was and what I was meant to do with my life. I couldn’t be sure where I would be in two years. Even a week from now was hard to imagine. I would’ve loved to believe he would still be by my side, but life was everchanging and nothing was ever promised to us. I couldn’t stand the idea of letting him in, only to have to learn to live without him should things go wrong. The truth of it all was that I’d been on my own for so long, I had forgotten what it was like to let someone else into your world, and the idea of closing that door again? I couldn’t do it. “This should be the last thing you want,” I said. “And yet, it’s the only thing I want.” “Perhaps I’m not the only one capable of making terrible decisions then.” Drake pressed his lips to mine again, and this time, I welcomed his mouth against mine. There was an urgency in the kiss, though he made sure to keep it soft and gentle. There was no denying the fear in his movements. And that worried me. What had he intended to do that he was so scared?

This is perhaps ZZT’s most impressive quality: its ability to transform, to become anything other than Town of ZZT. In 2009 Drake Wilson released Preposterous Machines, a collection of machines built out of massive systems of Objects interacting—often by way of shooting. Bullets were transmitted from Object to Object like electrical impulses. What are the machines? A sinewave grapher. A calculator. A machine that solves the Towers of Hanoi. A Mandlebrot visualizer. An implementation of John Conway’s Game of Life, the famously complex cellular automata that springs from a set of four rules.

The official word is to balance the team. I suspect it’s because Congress doesn’t trust the military. I assume it’ll be an egghead guy with serious credentials and no government ties. Drake wants someone with no agenda.

the board were five words written side by side in capital letters: MATERIALITY, RELEVANCE, HEARSAY, AUTHENTICATION, and PRIVILEGE. McMurtrie’s five columns, to those who knew. Today was the first day of Evidence. And their teacher was Thomas Jackson McMurtrie. The Professor. He who wrote the book, literally, on evidence in Alabama. As he turned to them, Tom smiled to himself, taking

Okay,” Drake said, “I’ll get my man on the job and have him up there. Anything else?” “That’s all for now,” Mason said. “Well, wait a minute! This rancher, Overbrook, looks like a big, good-natured, rugged individual, but I’d like to find out something about him.

bleak

vapid

I was utterly content. If I’d been a cat, I would have been purring.

professor

All legends have a reason for being told. Some to save lives, some to explain how things came to be, and some to share traditions among a people to bind them together for all time. If a people forget their legends, they become no people at all.

dissembling

The club was in the heart of Logoes, and a long line of people waited to pass through the massive entrance. The red neon sign above the door cast a crimson glow over everything. This was one of Drake’s favorite places—something he owned that wasn’t his brother’s.

Drake was a gorgeous predator, and the rich brown of his skin gleamed, enticing the unwary to touch him. It was another perk of vampirism. Everything about them was designed to attract their prey.

Kaden is trying to open the realms, Drake. It means freedom for us, for our kind. No more worrying about the celestials or The Hand. Why are you and Ethan suddenly so against that?” His eyes roamed mine for a second, searching for some sign that I was joking, but only pain edged my voice. “He has a point. I would like to not be hunted—my family or me—but his beliefs are clouded.” He stood, unbuttoning his jacket and carefully taking it off. “Ethan won’t follow, nor will I. He’s a tyrant, Dianna. No matter what pretty picture he paints.

Actually, the entire continent of Zarall was owned by Ethan Vanderkai, Vampire King and the sixth son of the royal bloodline. Every vampire that spawned from the eastern to the western hemisphere was under his rule, but he wasn’t the one I was looking for tonight. No, I was here for his brother, the Prince of Night, Drake Vanderkai.

Do you like to read?' Emerie's mouth curled upward. 'I live alone, up in the mountains. I have nothing to do with my spare time except work in my garden and read whatever books I order through the mail service. And in the winter, I don't even have the distraction of my gardening. So, yes, I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.' Nesta grunted her agreement. 'What manner of books?' Gwyn asked. 'Romantics,' Emerie said, adjusting her own hair, the thick black braid full of reds and browns in the sunlight. Nesta started. Emerie's eyes lit. 'You too? Which ones?' Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person. 'Have you read Sellyn Drake's novels?' Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped, so dramatically that Cassian muttered something about sparing him from smut-obsessed females before heading further into the ring. 'You must read her books. You must. I'll bring the first one tomorrow. You'll stay up all night reading it, I swear.' 'Smut?' Gwyn asked, catching Cassian's muttered words. There was enough hesitation in her voice to make Nesta draw up straight. Nesta glanced at Emerie, realising the female didn't know about Gwyn- her history, or why the priestesses lived in the library. But Emerie asked. 'What do you read?' 'Adventure, sometimes mysteries. But mostly I read whatever Merrill, the priestess I work with, has written that day. Not as exciting as romance, not by a long shot. Emerie said casually. 'I can bring one of Drake's brooks for you, too- one of her milder ones. An introduction to the wonders of romance.' Emerie winked at Nesta. Nesta waited for Gwyn to refuse, but the priestess smiled. 'I'd like that.

You watch them buggers!’ said Pryce,

He is old, Liam, old and powerful. He has been digging for information on you for centuries.” My power spilled out, the doors behind me slamming open and vibrating against the walls. “Then he is well aware of what I am capable of,” I said. I turned away, leaving the study and them. The last thing I heard was Drake saying, “So, that’s Samkiel. We’re in such deep shit.

Drake strode away from Kaden without looking at the camera once. I watched as he joined Ethan and a dark-haired woman I assumed was Ethan’s wife—the wife who had been too busy to greet us while we were staying in Zarall. The pieces started to click together, and I didn’t like the picture they made. Had they sold Dianna out for the wife?

Do you like the present Drake brought me, Dianna? He even snagged me a member of The Hand,” he said as a deadly smile curved his features. He squeezed Gabby’s face as he stared at the camera. “Say hello to big sister, now.

What manner of books?” Gwyn asked. “Romances,” Emerie said, adjusting her own hair, the thick black braid full of reds and browns in the sunlight. Nesta started. Emerie’s eyes lit. “You too? Which ones?” Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person. “Have you read Sellyn Drake’s novels?” Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped, so dramatically that Cassian muttered something about sparing him from smut-obsessed females before heading farther into the ring. “You must read her books. You must. I’ll bring the first one tomorrow. You’ll stay up all night reading it, I swear.” “Smut?” Gwyn asked, catching Cassian’s muttered words.

We obviously have a problem." "Give me a stake and I'll solve it." She snorted and sipped at her mug, her lips coming back a slightly deeper shade of red. "Just try it. I dare ya.

And he who owns the water, owns the city - indeed owns life itself. But no-one in truth owns the river. It is greater, more enduring and more powerful than any of us, almost more than any god. It can tear us apart with its force or starve us by withholding its yearly inundation. It is full of death. It carries corpses of beast and men and children whose dwelling time in its depths has shocked them green. …And yet it sustains our rich black earth from which spring our green crops, our barley and wheat.

I am wary of the words ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. We use them far too easily to judge things which we have no competence to judge. And I could not say that the things I have seen here in Akhetaten are right. People are people: avaricious, ambitious, strutting, careless. That doesn’t change.

I arrive at the wooden door. I offer a prayer to the little god in his niche who knows I don’t believe in him, then push the door open.The courtyard is swept and tidy, the olive tree stands silver and green. I listen to the silence.

We wished for you here. Once we learned what Kaden was really searching for and that the legends were not just legends, we planned to secede from his legion. I began to research you on my own, pulling from sources long buried by my people. Drake took my place at meetings, gathering any information he could get. Then something changed, and Kaden became obsessed with this book, committing dark acts in his desire to obtain it. He is holding meetings, slaughtering and torturing celestials, all to find this book.” “I am aware,” Liam said finally. “The only issue is that the Book of Azrael is not real.” “He is killing because he believes it is.

What enchanted item is this?” “The Bracelets of Ophelia,” Dianna whispered as she looked up at Drake, her smile returning. My jaw clenched as I realized this was another thing they shared that I knew nothing about. “Please explain.” Dianna’s smile dropped as she turned toward me. “They’re a treasure and extremely enchanted. They are strong enough to make any Otherworld creature seem like a normal mortal. In short, they can cloak someone’s power.

I turned to Ethan and asked, “Where is your wife? I haven’t seen Naomi in ages.” Drake stopped mid-chew and stared at his brother. “She is away. She wished she could make it, but she has more important things to attend to,” Ethan said, breaking the standoff with Liam to look at me as I had intended. I nodded, curious about what could be more important than Kaden trying to end the world and Liam returning, but I left the subject alone. Liam and Ethan sat in brooding silence while Drake and I went back to eating.

Politics were a part of human life. People who thought they didn’t play politics, simply played politics badly.

She had grown somehow more beautiful in the days since they’d last met. Maybe it was the dress she wore, one of the concoctions Gregory had paid Mrs. Maxwell to create. Julia glittered like a diamond in a gown of cream silk with crushed blue velvet accents. And there was something about the way she came alive when surrounded by books that excited him further. It was one thing to desire a beautiful woman, but a beautiful woman with a keen mind only fed the ache in his loins and the fire in his blood. Because ladies were discouraged from anything too mentally taxing, Gregory adored a woman who devoured knowledge for its own sake.

I would like to remind you that Theta is…” Audrey let her words trail off. “Ah, humor again. This is perhaps better than your other jokes.” “Congratulations, Fin.” Drake narrowed all four of his eyes at me, his lips thin and straight. “You have won the plant’s approval.” “On that note, let’s get off this bunghole planet,” I said.

His words hissed to a stop, and I knew exactly why. As the roiling heat of Liam’s power appeared in the closet with us, my sorrow, fear, and regret no longer felt overwhelming. The ache in my chest eased, allowing me to breathe easier. “Am I interrupting something?” I jerked from Drake’s touch and cringed, knowing Liam would see it as a sign of guilt and believe there was something between Drake and me. “Do you knock?” Drake asked, dropping his hand. “Not when she sounds distressed.” Liam’s voice thundered behind me, the lights in my room flickering ominously.

Do you want them all dead?" Cole asked casually, breaking the silence. I blinked, startled from my own thoughts. "What?" "If I were to kill them and drag their souls to Hell for your amusement. Would that please you?

In the end, we only regret the chances we couldn’t take, the decisions we took too long to make, and all the wonderful things we did not bake.

I had withdrawn from humanity because I had, in fact, lost my humanity. I had believed that without my humanity, there was little to no purpose to my continuing to exist. However, in the past few minutes, I have begun to believe that perhaps... Just perhaps... There is some small aspect of human feeling left to me." "Why?" "Because I find that you three annoy the hell out of me. I feel the urge to smack you... Particularly Impulse. For that, I am indebted. Thank you." "You're uh... You're welcome... I guess.

the meanest, baddest, sons of bitches the universe has ever known.

Thanks again and good luck!

Your understanding and interpretation of [a novel] is undoubtedly unique…and that is the real beauty of the relationship that joins readers, books and writers together in a literary trinity—a bookish triumvirate.

All I could do was watch her leave, but I’d been getting good at that. I’d had a hell of a lot of practice. I was losing everything that meant anything to me. Ruining my life seemed to be my only competency.

I woke early like a condemned man to the naivety of birdsong.

they say to grow up strong, a child only needs one person who thinks the world of them.

the meantime, I had my own psychopath to catch whoever he was. Or she was. Not that I cared about this asshole’s gender. They could be a fucking hermaphrodite elephant with ten titties and three cocks. It didn’t matter.

That’s harsh,” I muttered, putting my hands on my hips. “The truth tends to be harsh,” Drake answered. “Like the fact that your horns are cute?” I joked. He pouted at me hating the notion of having ‘cute’ horns. In response, he jerked his head away agitated. “Relax!” I said with a snicker, “it’s just a joke! I promise I won’t tease you about your cute little horns anymore! Ok?

You put this together this morning? Pua lifted her head and glared at Raul. Look. I was effectively trapped inside my own office with a bomb outside my door. Presentations and spread sheets give me Zen. Back off.

Don’t hold back and save stuff for the next book. Put everything you have into the one you’re writing, - Michael Connelly

There’s nothing like coming home and having your children sprint to the door and leap into your arms. That alone is reason enough to be a parent.

What are you doing?” Demos’s eyes followed me. “There never seems to be enough time to explore the libraries.” Demos’s eyebrow rose. “Did you hit your head?” “I’m serious.” I sighed. “We have this gift to transport ourselves to any library anywhere in the world. It’s amazing, but we never get to enjoy it, to just sit in one and read books written ages ago.

Which we do not have time for right now. Mrs. Stratton, we must go. The others are waiting.” Virginia shot her husband a glare, but smiled when she turned back to Carrie. “It’s a sincere pleasure to meet you. I hope we’ll find time to talk soon.” She stared at Carrie’s clothing and face as though drinking her in. She curtsied before leaving the room. Carrie stepped outside onto the rickety back porch. Many of the boards were broken or black with rot. The back steps were missing. She hopped down into the dead foot-high grass and walked over to an old-fashioned well. She gave the handle a couple of pumps before it came off in her hand. “Great. Gonna have to fix that too.” To her right was the barn where she’d parked her car. A path led off to the left, and she could see the remains of a small brick shed, identical in color to the main house. She forced the door open. A bird flew out, startling her. She took several steps back when she saw wasps’ nests in the rafters. Next to the shack, buried beneath the weeds, was the tell-tale hump of a root cellar. “I don’t even want to think about going down there,” she said to herself. “Used to be a right good cellar.” Carrie turned to see the older black woman who had minutes before been in the parlor. “My mama kept everything down there. Potatoes, beets, onions, and apples. Oh, Lord, but my mama could cook.” “And did you learn her trade?