Meda Quotes

You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature. This isn’t Beauty and the Beast where my kiss would transform the monster to a prince. If anything, it’s Shrek, and his kiss brings out the ogre in me.

Naivety is cured with time. Stupidity is terminal.

Stupid Crusaders with their stupid rules. For a homicidal group, they’re appallingly restrictive. No, Meda, you can’t leave campus. No, Meda, you know we have a curfew. No, Meda, you can’t eat that guy.

But I am not sick, or crazy, or broken. I am Meda Melange, demon-saint monster girl. I make full-grown men scream in terror. I break bones and drain blood. I turn nightmares into reality. I am the most powerful creature on earth. I do not wear a leash.

She regards me the same way I would a cat – like I’m distasteful, occasionally entertaining, and not to be trusted not to pee on the rug. Which is completely unfair – I only thought about it once.

Because the dumb slut slept with him, and he’s too nice to–” WHAM, out of nowhere he nose-butts me in the fist!

They say curiosity killed the cat but I am unconcerned. I am smarter, though slightly less evil, than any cat.

Some might call me a “tease”, but don’t believe it. “Tease” implies that I owe him something, that I should feel guilty. As if my flirtation is forced on him and he merely tolerates it for an eventual pay-out. That’s bullshit. We both have goals in our little game; why should his goal (sex) take priority over mine (to mess with his head)? Is it because he’s a man? In that case I must object on principle. Superhero Meda establishing gender-equality one almost-kiss at a time!

I suppose it should bother me to be so hated but, without it, I wouldn’t have the delight of torturing them with my presence. What can I say? My cheerful spirit can’t help but spot silver linings.

Forget them, Meda. Forget her.” He reaches up and puts his hand on the side of my face, tugging it toward him. “I like you as you are. Good, evil, whatever. All I care about is that you’re alive. Please, Meda.

I nod and wave to my enemies like Miss America, pausing to blow kisses at the worst of them as I work my way across the cafeteria with a plate loaded with horridly healthy food.

Não há múmias, pedaços de tecido colados ao osso, medas de sal ou cadáveres que jamais estivessem nem metade dos mortos que estamos hoje.

There’s this guy I came across, not far from here. I thought we could, you know,” he makes a short slashing motion across his neck. “He seems like the kinda guy you’d go for. In a homicidal way, I mean.” “You arranged a murder?” Awww, that’s so sweet.

I laugh. “How exactly do you see this…” I wave between the two of us, unable to come up with a descriptor “Beautiful friendship?” he supplies with a devilish grin. “…going?” I finish, ignoring him. “Us being mortal enemies and all.” “I prefer the term ‘star-crossed lovers.’” I snort. “Regardless, it can’t end well.” “The best romances don’t.

Get him! My hormones scream. Don’t fall for it, my brain cautions. Pretty! They whine. Stupid hormones. Calm down, hormones. We are just pumping him – (really brain, you chose the word pumping?) – for information. He is literally evil. We need to keep our distance.

Rotten boys with their rotten eyes with their ridiculous rotten eyelashes. They suck a girl in, a pair of Venus fly-traps. No, Venus eye-traps.

You said you’d cooperate.” I knew I’d regret my promise, just not quite this soon. “You don’t wear pink!” “Yeah, well, no one thinks I’m in league with the devil.” She shoves it into my chest. I narrow my eyes. “I do.

I hear Jo in my head trying to douse the fire in my heart. “Be good, Meda.” Good, good, good, good, good. The word plays in a loop until it means nothing. I’ve been good and they refuse to feed me. I’ve been good and they won’t train me. I’ve been good and they changed the locks. I’ve been good and they want to send me away.

And, lastly, there’s a small pack of wide-eyed innocents in awe of my Beacon-ness who follow me around expecting me to perform a miracle any minute. Sometimes I screw up my face like I’m trying. Or constipated.

He either had a great deal of faith in my ability to escape (fair enough, I do rock), or he’s full of shit – sadly, that’s the more likely option.

My hands twitch and wiggle. Jo sees them, shakes her head and mouths, “Sit on your hands.” She can’t be serious. As if my butt would stop my hands even if it could. Does she not realize it’s in league with the rest of me?

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Mede Farz Fareezay, Hajj, Zakataan Soum Salaat Azaan Vi Toon Meri Zohd Ibadat Ta’at Taqwa Ilm Vi Toon Irfan Vi Toon Mera Zikr Vi Toon Meda Fikr Vi Toon Mera Zouq Vi Toon Wajdan Vi Toon Meda Sanwal Mithra Shaam Saloona Mun Mohan Janaan Vi Toon Meda Murshid Haadi Peer Tareeqat Shaikh Haqaa’iq Daan Vi Toon Meda Aas Ummed Te Khattaya Wattaya Takia Maan Taran Vi Toon Mera Dharam Vi Toon Meda Bharam Vi Toon Meda Sharam Vi Toon Meda Shaan Vi Toon Meda Dukh Sukh Ro’wan Khilan Vi Toon Meda Dard Vi Toon Darmaan Vi Toon Meda Khushiyan Da Asbaab Vi Toon Mede Soolaan Da Samaan Vi Toon Mera Husn Te Bhaag Suhaag Vi Toon Meda Bakht Te Naam Nishaan Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon

While I’m all delighted joy, she’s angry revenge, which is pretty adorable on a six year-old, even a dead one – like a wet kitten.

Superhero Meda establishing gender-equality one almost-kiss at a time!

That’s what I get for playing with fire,” he grumbles, rubbing his head. It can’t hurt too badly – his head is far too hard. “And here I always thought I was the one playing with fire. You being the bad boy.” “Nope,” he says, dropping down beside me. “The one playing with fire is the one most likely to get burned.

They studied the phenomenon at Harvard.” “They studied soul-stealing at Harvard?” “What else do you think they do in business school? In any case, it’s called the Ikea effect.” “As in furniture?

You are a total nerd.” Not what he’s expecting, the darkness wiped away by a startled laugh. “What?” “Why else would you possibly know that?” I say it like I’m piecing together a puzzle – and I’m appalled by the picture it’s making. “You’re a nerd. A complete nerd. You nerdified sex. That just happened.

No, I should kill him. He said himself he would eventually go back to the demons. But he turns long-lashed eyes on me, full of entreaty, as if he were saying: please, please let me come murder the molester with you. How do you say “no” to eyes like those? They are a magical combination of sex and puppy. Better than it sounds, I promise.

Ah well, no rest for the wicked and all that. I’ll just have to kill him myself.

And, like Christmas, Armand has brought gifts. But he is no fat, sweet Santa Claus who rewards the nice; he is the Lord of Misrule, the Abbot of Unreason in charge of scandalous fun.

And since when does Hell have royalty? I thought they were all bureaucrats.” “Oh, sweetie,” he says, patronizing. “That’s cute.” “What’s cute?” “That you think celebrity children of powerful people aren’t royalty.” “Are you accusing me of being a Hilton?” I sputter. “Or a, a–” my head might explode, “Kardashian?” “The Hellish equivalent.

She regards me the same way I would a cat – like I’m distasteful, occasionally entertaining, and not to be trusted not to pee on the rug. Which is completely unfair – I only thought about it once.

Kad se želi živeti, onda se još nešto i voli. Tada je teže, ali i lakše. Eto, ja bih i onako morala da umrem, a sad sam zadovoljna što imam tebe. Mogla sam biti sama i nesrećna. Tada bih želela da umrem. Ovako je teže, ali sam puna ljubavi, kao pčela meda kad se uveče vraća u košnicu. Kad bih mogla da biram, uvek bih izabrala ovo isto.

Deserti su uvijek izvanredni. Slastice spravljene u deliriju od čokolade i karamela, bobice što pršte od krema i likera. Torte u slojevima poslaganim do nemogućih visina, tijesta lakša od zraka. Smokve što kaplju od meda, vitice i cvijeće od puhanog šećera. Gosti često govore kako su prelijepi, previše dojmljivi da bi ih pojeli, ali im to uvijek nekako pođe za rukom.

umorila sam se od ženskaste poezije i podređivanja sad sam jaka i nimalo meka motam duhan kao bradati Turčin rakijama od meda, imele i šljiva ispirem umišljene ljubavi kada hodam, korak mi je vojnički i tuče asfalt kao psovka kada pomislim da ću se pretvoriti u djevojčicu nakitim ruke narukvicama i zveckam do kavane, do luke, do kalete do prvog kantuna na kojem se mogu smijati kao žena promuklog glasa i prejake šminke žena sa napuklim srcem i predispozicijama za artritis od previše pisanja, od preumornih baka i njihovih genetskih oporuka, od pranja suđa u hladnoj vodi i grčevitog držanja za male utopije.

Dok je kraljica govorila o slici i odijelu, uđe u dvoranu lakaj sa srebrnim poslužavnikom, na kome je bio oveći kristalni suds a onim izvrsnim voćnim kompotom, što ga u Srbiji zovu „slatko“. Na Kraljičinu ponudu, latih se žlice i stadoh da se pomalo zalažem. Kompot je bio slađi od meda, pa se meni, koji baš ne volim slatkarije, teško niz grlo omicao. Bio sam u velikoj neprilici, jer sam smatrao da jedan dio toga moram, iz učtivosti, da pojedem. U neki mah poče da me obliva znoj, jer sam osećao da ću teško moći da i pola toga pojeden, a da se kakogod ne osramotim. Najedamput se kraljica sva zažari u licu i prsnu u smijeh. Ujedno me učtivo opomenu da, za Boga, ne jedem toliko tog „slatkog“, jer da bi mi to moglo naškoditi. I uze da se žali na dvorskog maršala, što me nije upozorio na običaj (u istini malo čudnovat) da se od tog kompota uzima samo jedna žličica i odmah zaliva vodom. Ja sam, svakako, u tom trenutku odahnuo; pa iako mi nije bilo do šale, rado sam se i sam nasmijao; ali čim smo se malo smirili, odmah sam Njeno Veličanstvo upozorio da nijesam Francuz, da sam rodom iz Dubrovnika, odnosno iz Cavtata, i da je moj jezik srpski, naime taj isti, kojim se govori u Beogradu (...) Poslužavnik je, međutim, donio novi kompot. Kraljica, kao da je htjela da me pouči kako se uzima „slatko“, zahvati žličicom i prinese ustima malo kompota, pa onda položi žličicu na drugu stranu poslužavnika. Sad sam tek shvatio kraljičin smijeh, i moj užas postade još veći !

Thanks again, sir.” Jules shook his hand again. “You’re welcome again,” the captain said, his smile warm. “I’ll be back aboard the ship myself at around nineteen hundred. If it’s okay with you, I’ll, uh, stop in, see how you’re doing.” Son of a bitch. Was Jules getting hit on? Max looked at Webster again. He looked like a Marine. Muscles, meticulous uniform, well-groomed hair. That didn’t make him gay. And he’d smiled warmly at Max, too. The man was friendly, personable. And yet . . . Jules was flustered. “Thanks,” he said. “That would be . . . That’d be nice. Would you excuse me, though, for a sec? I’ve got to speak to Max, before I, uh . . . But I’ll head over to the ship right away.” Webster shook Max’s hand. “It was an honor meeting you, sir.” He smiled again at Jules. Okay, he hadn’t smiled at Max like that. Max waited until the captain and the medic both were out of earshot. “Is he—” “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Jules said. “But, oh my God.” “He seems nice,” Max said. “Yes,” Jules said. “Yes, he does.” “So. The White House?” “Yeah. About that . . .” Jules took a deep breath. “I need to let you know that you might be getting a call from President Bryant.” “Might be,” Max repeated. “Yes,” Jules said. “In a very definite way.” He spoke quickly, trying to run his words together: “I had a very interesting conversation with him in which I kind of let slip that you’d resigned again and he was unhappy about that so I told him I might be able to persuade you to come back to work if he’d order three choppers filled with Marines to Meda Island as soon as possible.” “You called the President of the United States,” Max said. “During a time of international crisis, and basically blackmailed him into sending Marines.” Jules thought about that. “Yeah. Yup. Although it was a pretty weird phone call, because I was talking via radio to some grunt in the CIA office. I had him put the call to the President for me, and we did this kind of relay thing.” “You called the President,” Max repeated. “And you got through . . .?” “Yeah, see, I had your cell phone. I’d accidently switched them, and . . . The President’s direct line was in your address book, so . . .” Max nodded. “Okay,” he said. “That’s it?” Jules said. “Just, okay, you’ll come back? Can I call Alan to tell him? We’re on a first-name basis now, me and the Pres.” “No,” Max said. “There’s more. When you call your pal Alan, tell him I’m interested, but I’m looking to make a deal for a former Special Forces NCO.” “Grady Morant,” Jules said. “He’s got info on Heru Nusantra that the president will find interesting. In return, we want a full pardon and a new identity.” Jules nodded. “I think I could set that up.” He started for the helicopter, but then turned back. “What’s Webster’s first name? Do you know?” “Ben,” Max told him. “Have a nice vacation.” “Recovering from a gunshot wound is not a vacation. You need to write that, like, on your hand or something. Jeez.” Max laughed. “Hey, Jules?” He turned back again. “Yes, sir?” “Thanks for being such a good friend.” Jules’s smile was beautiful. “You’re welcome, Max.” But that smile faded far too quickly. “Uh-oh, heads up—crying girlfriend on your six.” Ah, God, no . . . Max turned to see Gina, running toward him. Please God, let those be tears of joy. “What’s the verdict?” he asked her. Gina said the word he’d been praying for. “Benign.” Max took her in his arms, this woman who was the love of his life, and kissed her. Right in front of the Marines.

How much longer?” Then I lift a brow to let him know I was screwing with him. Some might call me a “tease”, but don’t believe it. “Tease” implies that I owe him something, that I should feel guilty. As if my flirtation is forced on him and he merely tolerates it for an eventual pay-out. That’s bullshit. We both have goals in our little game; why should his goal (sex) take priority over mine (to mess with his head)? Is it because he’s a man? In that case I must object on principle. Superhero Meda establishing gender-equality one almost-kiss at a time!

I remember one of the few (awkward. Oh God, so, so awkward) sex-centered conversations I had with my mom. It was right before she… died, and she’d caught me checking out a guy while we waited in line at a store. She waited until we were in the car, thank God, before she said anything. I felt her worry long before she said anything. “Don’t ever… give yourself to someone you don’t trust, Meda,” Mom finally started. I’m pretty sure I had a bratty comeback regarding the euphemism “give yourself”. Probably paired with the classic snotty-shit eye roll I’d managed to perfect in my fifteen years on earth. She ignored me like the brat I was, and kept talking. “When you sleep with someone, whether you know it or not, whether you want to or not, you give them a little piece of you they can break.” I had another dismissive comment on the tip of my tongue, but there was something in her voice that stopped me. Something dark and sad. Something that scared me enough to shut the hell up and just nod. She’d turned toward me. “You may think you’re different, but you’re not.” Her eyes grew distant. “Trust me.

He looks at me now. “Anyway, I want you to be careful, Meda. Careful you don’t wake up one day, an old fool with nothing but the sun-dappled memory of a dead girl to keep you company. Your mom wouldn’t want you to live like that. Remember people you have lost, but let them go. Let the memories fade.” It’s obvious he hasn’t let her go. “Wouldn’t she want you to do the same?” He smiles the caught smile of someone doing something they shouldn’t. “Yes, but part of the fun of loving your mom was arguing with her.

Me can read good.

Ako dovoljno dugo gledaš u tamu, tama će pogledati u tebe i nasmejaće ti se nevinim osmehom petogodišnjaka.

In attempting to maintain the existing order, the powerful commit crimes of control. … At the same time, oppressed people engage in … crimes of resistance. —Meda Chesney-Lind and Randall G. Shelden, Girls, Delinquency, and Juvenile Justice, 1992

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