Flock Ravenhood Quotes

He wants me to read, with him, in his bed. And what better way to pass a day in stormy weather than curling up with a gorgeous man and getting lost in the words.

My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.

My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled.

The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.

My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them." "It rains a lot here,

We crave the all-consuming, soul-stealing, drama-filled romances that are destined to end badly.

We love rainy days, don't we baby

You catchin’ feelings for me, Pup?

In your heart of hearts, if you didn’t have to choose, would you?

If a man seems too good to be true, he usually is a liar.

That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. You can’t re-live your own love story because, by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. At least that was the case for me.

Now is now, later will eventually be now. Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.

If you’re ever wondering what to do, that’s what you do. Whatever you fucking want, whenever you want, and you don’t apologize for it, not ever.” “This is insane.” “Welcome to my world,” he murmurs, before sealing me inside it with his kiss.

Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.

He’s everything I didn’t know I wanted in a man and so much more than I ever hoped to have.

The truth is, I do expect a lot out of my love story and the man I’ll share it with. I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.

He turns another page and pulls an empty pillow closer to his shoulder. He wants me to read, with him, in his bed. And what better way to pass a day in stormy weather than curling up with a gorgeous man and getting lost in the words.

I know what I’m holding, I know her worth,” he whispers, his words so intimate that for a second, I think I’ve imagined them.

You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than you can in a year of conversation.” I gape at him because I’m pretty sure he just quoted Plato.

Somebody couldn’t keep a secret.

The sadder truth is that the only way to conquer the fear of dying is by dying.

You just going to ignore me while you read all day?" "Yep", he says, a hint of a smile on his lips

You can't re-live your own love story because, by the time you've realized you're living it, it's over.

There are very few men worth the hell they put you through. So be very careful about who you give your heart and body to. They might eventually take more than you can handle.

The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.

My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in an all-consuming love.

I’m thinking I forgot who the fuck I am.

I can promise you that only a quarter of how fast this is fucking beating has to do with chasing after your beautiful and crazy ass.

Who brought you home?” “Just a local.” “Ah, does he have a name?” “He does. Friend.

That’s the truth,” I add, “people don’t want the brutal truth in love stories anymore, but that, there,” I gesture at the screen, “is the brutal, ugly truth.

Just don’t give it power. Now is now, later will eventually be now. Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.

It’s the knowledge that the one and only man my heart’s ever been faithful to, I will never have.

When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.

Some believe without rules and morals that we’re no better than animals.” He leans in, his mouth twisting seductively. “But it can be a lot of fun to be an animal.

My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.

More importantly, he couldn’t handle her personality or her beliefs, or her strength; therefore, he did not deserve her.

You be careful with him. And steer clear of his friends, that dark one they call the Frenchman,” she leans in, “I’ve heard…things about him.

I’ve been in a state of “what in the hell did I do?” and “please, my lords, may I have seconds?

Standing at the entrance of the seedy bar is the most lethal and beautiful of devils, and he’s brought hell with him, the summoned flames dancing in his eyes.

If you’re ever wondering what to do, that’s what you do. Whatever you fucking want, whenever you want, and you don’t apologize for it, not ever.

I didn’t heed a single warning. I went in a willing captive. I let love rule and ruin me. I played my part, eyes wide open, tempting fate until it delivered.

Miss me, Pup?

I know what I’m holding, I know her worth,

That’s a shame. I was just thinking of all the dirty things I would do to you if you wore a suit.” “Ah,” he hangs his head, “so she wants a suit guy.

So, come on, girl,” she nudges me with her elbow, “what exactly did you do to get in that car?” Fucked them both on a float.

Time has told me it only takes seconds to be made a fool.

That you’re high up in an organization of backroads’ misfits who do bad deeds to carry out good ones.” I’m not at all surprised when my answer is silence.

It’s a high I’d almost forgotten about, a high that’s more addictive to me than any drug could ever be. My heart has some scar tissue, but it beats steady,

The worst thing we’ve ever done is give everyone a microphone and a place to use it.

It’s okay to want his dick, baby, I’ll watch it go inside you and fucking love the view, and the savage it’ll make me.

baby, please stop crying. You’re killing me.

Baby, please look at me.

Miss me, Pup?” “Maybe.

And for the record, I caught feelings the minute I laid eyes on you.

Now time?” “It’s the only measure of time that matters. Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.

I’m not a teenage boy with his first hard-on. And even when I was, I’ve never tried to prove myself to anyone by using my dick as an exclamation point. I told you everything you needed to know last night. This is your decision, Cecelia, don’t turn it on me.

The truth is, I do expect a lot out of my love story and the man I’ll share it with.

Fucking men.

I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness.

I allowed myself to be used, ravaged, and at times debased to the point of depravity…and that I’d loved every second of it. I never

Our eyes stay locked as his grip tightens on my waist. “I know what I’m holding, I know her worth,” he whispers,

Still trying to make peace with the devil?” My nod is solemn. “I want to so much.” “I’m all yours, Cecelia.

Clearly, cider gives me a drunken British pirate accent when I’ve had too much of it, or I’ve been watching too much BBC.

It’s time to confess, to myself more so than any other, that’ I’d hindered my chance of a normal and healthy relationship because of the way I was built, and because of the men who built me. At this point, I just want to make peace with who I am, no matter what ending I get.

My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled. Because of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness. When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve. I gave into temptation and fed that beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow. That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. You can’t re-live your own love story because, by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. At least that was the case for me.

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.” —Colleen McCullough, The Thorn Birds

Pick one,” he says just as I reach the handle. “One what?” He nods toward the shelves. I run my hands over my face in frustration. “You drive me insane.” I move toward the shelf and look over his collection. I pause when I see a few familiar titles. “You have a whole romance section.” I giggle and pull a book from the shelf. When I open it, a receipt falls to the floor. Inspecting it, I see he’s just bought ten books and spent a few hundred dollars opting for some pricy hardcovers over paperbacks. “You just bought these?” Upon closer inspection, I see most of them are romance titles by my favorite indies. There’s also a few suspense and an older historical, all of them titles from a familiar list that I wrote on a bookmark in my bedroom. When he was in my house, he had to have snooped in my room while Sean was distracting me. “You looked through my stuff?” He keeps his eyes on his book. It’s a stupid question. And the answer is so obvious, but I can’t help myself. “You bought these for me?” Silence. And again, I’m floating off the ground as he continues to read, feigning indifference. But I know differently now, and it changes everything. Beneath that mask is a man who’s been paying attention, very close attention to me. He turns another page and pulls an empty pillow closer to his shoulder. He wants me to read, with him, in his bed. And what better way to pass a day in stormy weather than curling up with a gorgeous man and getting lost in the words.

Other dreams of rainy days and nights filled with flips of pages and old nineties flicks, of cheddar popcorn and lavender scented blankets, of lightning and thunder and the fast pants and moans between the streak in the sky and the ground rattling boom that follows.

When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love. Is that expecting too much?

It’s a high I’d almost forgotten about, a high that’s more addictive to me than any drug could ever be. My heart has some scar tissue, but it beats steady, constantly letting me know that playing his game leaves it vulnerable, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the warning. For now, I’m playing blissfully ignorant, all too ready for another hit.

At this point, I just want to make peace with who I am, no matter what ending I get.

These men I’ve been hanging with are exactly the type that Mom warns you away from and that Dad is supposed to greet at the front door with a shotgun in hand.

Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.

Those boys, pretty as they are, I think might have the devil inside them.

A smirk. “A rare bastard you can’t seem to stop fucking.

He moves to greet me with a kiss on the cheek and I shy away. “Morning breath.” “I don’t give a fuck.” He leans in and plants a soft kiss on my jaw,

The older I get, the better I understand the lyrics and understand her, you know what I mean?

But do yourself a favor, never research your heroes.” “Why?” He tips his beer. “Because you’ll find out they’re human.

My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.” “It rains a lot here,” he says after a few long beats. “Fine with me. But my sunny days belong to Sean.

I don’t completely trust Karma, so if I’m ever in the position, I’ll make sure she delivers.

Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.

My draw toward him is unexplainable,

It might not yet be love, but it’s definitely nothing short of heady infatuation at this point.

I’ve got you, Pup.

If I wasn’t studying the distinctions between them daily, I would sometimes think they are the same person. But in a lot of aspects, they’re night and day, dark cloud and golden sun.

Don’t be sorry. Just don’t give it power. Now is now, later will eventually be now. Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.

Most consider knowing all-consuming love a blessing, but I consider it a curse. A curse I’ll never be able to lift. I’ll never know love again as I did here all those years ago. And I don’t want to. I can’t. I’m still sick with it.

Most consider knowing all-consuming love a blessing, but I consider it a curse. A curse I’ll never be able to lift. I’ll never know love again as I did here all those years ago. And I don’t want to. I can’t. I’m still sick with it. There is no question in my mind that for me, it was love. What other pull could be so strong? What other feeling could addict me to the point of insanity? Of doing the things I did and living with these memories within this ghost story.

Being in Dominic’s proximity is like a slow-motion view of an explosion of metal on metal. With Sean, I feel safer; but when Dominic is around, I feel that every breath I take is laced with something hazardous. Yet with each inhale, he becomes more intoxicating.

They say land of the free and the home of the brave,” he mutters, shaking his head as he resumes our walk. “Yeah, they do,” I follow behind him. “Your point?” He turns back to me. “I say, it’s the land of the mentally inept, electronically dependent, and brainwashed media slaves.

Through patterns of my past, I’ve learned that I’m drawn to dysfunction, and more so to the men who provide the questions. I’m determined not to repeat my mistakes. I have a misplaced theory that if you’re not suffering, you’re not loving hard enough, deep enough, and that’s just not healthy.

Sorry, I’m just saying why waste now time worrying about later?” “Now time?” “It’s the only measure of time that matters. Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.

Trepidation engulfs me as more memories surface. I can still smell him, feel the swell of him inside me, taste the drop of salt in his cum, see the satisfied look in his hooded eyes. I can still feel the unmistakable rush from the looks we shared, hear the rumble of his dark chuckle, feel the wholeness from his touch.

It’s just a song.” “Is that what I am? Is that what this is going to be?” He towers over me and grips my wrist, placing my hand on his heart. “I have no idea yet, and neither do you, but I can promise you that only a quarter of how fast this is fucking beating has to do with chasing after your beautiful and crazy ass.

I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.

Don’t knock romance books. From the last one I read, I learned how to play a solitary card game, snagged the barbecue recipe I cooked today, and discovered how to bring myself to a proper orgasm, which means I can do all three without you. This makes me fully capable of entertaining myself. Coming here, in this dress, and cooking for you was a decision, and like all decisions, it was optional.

That may be the truth for some, but I still believe in Prince Charming,” Christy declares, “no matter what brutes you are to me.” “As you should,” Mom chimes in, “but just know, the picture in your head might not match your reality. There are very few men worth the hell they put you through. So be very careful about who you give your heart and body to. They might eventually take more than you can handle.

Knowledge is power, baby. Strongest weapon out there.” He takes a hit. “You know why they outlawed weed?” “Not a clue.” He props on his side, the cherry glowing brightly as he takes another pull. “Because the powers that be at the time couldn’t figure out how to regulate who grew it and tax it. So they created all this propaganda about how lethal it is. Look up Reefer Madness on YouTube when you get a chance, and you’ll see just how far they went. And people believed it because they were told to believe it.

You have a thing for Dominic. You can deny it all you want, but I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it, and I’m not standing in the way of that, and claiming you as mine is not going to do either of us any good. The truth is, seeing it only makes me want you more. And I do get off on it, and I won’t fucking apologize for it. Just like I won’t make you apologize for your attraction to him. I told you when we first hooked up, I don’t do things in the traditional way, neither does Dominic. Giving you the choice is more of a reflection on how I respect and feel about you and what you want, and it’s much better than denying to myself that I’ve seen you eye fuck him, more than once.

Nineteen thirty-eight. Complete and utter bullshit and the masses bought into it. All because the greedy fuckers couldn’t figure out how to tax it and control the distribution, they outlawed it. Now all these years later, they’re using it to relieve people of pain, stop seizures, to help treat incurable disorders with just the plant itself without the THC. And the mental effects for some can be just as healing as popping a more harmful pill. Can you imagine where we would be or how far we would have come since nineteen fucking thirty-eight if those assholes hadn’t ganged up on a plant? Instead, they taught us it was wrong, because some people decided it was and told us it was, and the law-abiding folk went along with it and preached to others it was wrong. And here we are after decades of it being outlawed and it’s suddenly safe for medical and medicinal purposes?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Did you ever hear that story about that guy who got stoned before he went and committed mass murder?” “No.” “Yeah, me neither. And I doubt anyone else has either because the odds are not fucking likely. We have to be careful about who we listen to.