Midnight Mayhem Quotes

Your eyes tell the explicit story that your soul tries to hide.

I learned that if you find yourself in a dark day, it only means that the sun is about to rise.

Eye contact is the language that no one can speak, but chemistry is fluent with; it’s the language of fate. It’s two souls catching on fire without a single word being spoken.

Yeah, but always remember that in peace always lies havoc.

Everything is so quiet when you’re under water. Like you can block out the world and be alone with your thoughts.

He’s like top shelf alcohol, nice to look at and dream about, but you just know that one taste will knock you on your ass.

Well, you remember that next time you have your tongue down the devil’s throat.” He chuckles. “All things sinister taste like honey.

Love is a battlefield, and my knight is a villain.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you know you love someone, or they know you love them. Sometimes, you still have to fight for it, for them.

Something happens when you’ve been taken advantage of. It’s as though they take some of your humanity and replace it with their odor.

At what point did he and I establish something? I missed it. That’s what worries me. It was organic. The knots and bonds were knitted without me noticing. Now I don’t know how to untie all the knots because I missed how they were woven together.

Numb to the words you have left heavy on my skin. Dipped with malice and edged with regret, it's within these shadows you have sanctioned my death. And how naive to once think us equal pillars, when really you were my soul killer. No noble knight, no sheltered haven. Just another devil casting mayhem.

-Parece que no te cae demasiado bien -dijo Daniel, acercándose más hacia él para que nadie pudiera oírlos-. ¿Por qué lo has invitado? En realidad, Jennsen no le había caído mal hasta hacía unos quince minutos. -Por lo mismo que invité a todos los demás. Porque es rico. -No entiendo cómo podría serte de utilidad a no ser que pretendas robarle. -Ni en broma. -Hummm. Y supongo que eres consciente de que aunque sea rico, la heredera con la que tienes que casarte debe ser una mujer.

I didn’t say that I love you for you to say it back. That’s fuckboy shit. I said it because it was true, and I know how you feel about me, Little Dragon.

Beauty only neutralizes the evil in a person. It blinds people with its surface to conceal the darkness that swims beneath it.

I wasn’t saved by Prince Charming. I was saved by a villain, and fuck being on his warpath.

Trust is the complication that delays love, it’s the bridge that joins two people together, so when that bridge burns down, it takes time to rebuild it, and that’s fine. You spend time rebuilding it, laying down the foundation again and putting all the time, blood, sweat, and tears into it, but here’s the thing. If you rebuild it, you better make sure the other is willing to cross it for you.

Que a pesar de todos mis esfuerzos soy incapaz de borrarte de mi mente. Y que a pesar de que mi buen juicio me grita que es un error, quiero sentir la magia de tus besos una y otra vez. Tanto que me asusta.

This is family. It’s love. It’s hate. It’s an unimaginable amount of patience. It’s peace with a little havoc, fury with a smidge of mischief, screaming when being silenced, and finally a little chaos when we reign. We perform crazy acts in front of strangers, dress up like little monsters after the clock strikes twelve, but at the end of the night, when the curtains close and the show is over, we’re just this. Midnight Mayhem.

I sink into my pillow and gaze out at the stars. It’s always been therapeutic for me to watch space. You don’t know what’s up there just as much as you don’t know what’s in the ocean. We think that what we see is all we know, but that’s not true at all.

You wanna do this?” he asks, though his hands are gripping for my tank. “Speak now or forever hold your fucking peace, Little Bird.” I do what any girl would do with Kingston Axton half naked on top of them, wanting to eat you alive. I hold my fucking peace.

We all have one thing in common—we’re born with power, but the world doesn’t like a confident woman, so they try to crush them with tabloids of what “perfection” should look like. It’s all a hoax to deceive us into thinking we’re lesser of a woman if we don’t look or act a certain way. We, as a sisterhood, must rise above that and harness the power our ancestors fought so hard for and destroy the patriarchy. This won’t happen quickly. In order for this to happen, we have to stop slut shaming, skinny shaming, fat shaming, fit shaming, or any shaming. There is no shame in what someone looks like, period—what is truly shameful is how easy it is for some of us to attack the other all because it’s not something we would wear or how we would talk. Individuality is a gift.

I feel soft lips brush against the lobe of my ear, warmth slithering over my skin. “If you want to break free, Little Dovey, I would advise you not to scream.” His other hand comes up to the front of my throat, and he clenches. “It gets my dick hard, and you don’t want that.

You want me to have emotions, baby? To be soft and that same little boy you knew all those years ago?” He tilts his head, leaning down until his lips come over mine. “I will never be that boy. He died when you died.” He licks my bottom lip. “One cannot exist without the other.

I don’t know,” I whisper, clenching him around me. “Maybe because I’ve always been and always will be yours.” “Even if I can’t have you?” he asks, tilting his head. The light behind the shower door creates a perfect shadow for his sharp jaw. I swallow down the pain those words cause me. “Even if you can’t have me.

Trust is the complication that delays love, it’s the bridge that joins two people together,

Two years after Midnight’s Children he published Shame, the second part of the diptych in which he examined the world of his origins, a work deliberately conceived to be the formal opposite of its precursor, dealing for the most part not with India but with Pakistan, shorter, more tightly plotted, written in the third person rather than the first, with a series of characters occupying the center of the stage one after the other instead of a single dominant narrator-antihero. Nor was this a book written with love; his feelings toward Pakistan were ferocious, satirical, personal. Pakistan was that place where the crooked few ruled the impotent many, where bent civilian politicians and unscrupulous generals allied with one another, supplanted one another, and executed one another, echoing the Rome of the Caesars, where mad tyrants bedded their sisters and made their horses into senators and fiddled while their city burned. But, for the ordinary Roman—and so also for the ordinary Pakistani—the murderous, psychotic mayhem inside the palace changed nothing. The palace was still the palace. The ruling class continued to rule.

In the end, all of them look like I’m an ’80s rock god that’s been fucked every which way by the entire band of Black Sabbath.

I’m a big people-watcher. I’ve never been a talker, and a lot of people have said that they assumed I was a snob. I’m not. I’m just quiet.

When you dance, Dove, you create a new world. You captivate the entire audience. There’s peace in your movements.” King’s arm wraps around my torso, pulling me into him as he walks behind me. “Yeah, but always remember that in peace always lies havoc.

I feel lost. Like I don’t know who I am anymore or even where I fit in.

I lost her.

If you tell me that you’re insecure because of another man, Saskia, I’ll kill him.

Murder and Mayhem in the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Beat snorts, leaning into her bag that’s near her ankles and dropping a book onto the table. She points. “Join the club.” My eyes fall on the cover, the bright green title catching my eyes first. The title is simple. MANIK. The cover image is of Aeron’s chest, but where his face is supposed to be, there are ravens flying out. “Wow! You have a book?” She waves me off. “I didn’t write it, but yes. It’s the story of how Aeron and I met. I’m all for creepy stories. I wouldn’t recommend this author, though. “She drinks too much, procrastinates a lot, and is easily distracted.” Excerpt from In Peace Lies Havoc Amo Jones This material may be protected by copyright.

and

Midnight Mayhem wasn’t just a carnival crew. They were all fucking unstable and sick in the head.

Give me your pain, Dove,” he whispers into my hair. “Give me all of it.” “Why.” I shake, pressing against him harder. “To numb mine.

This is family. It’s love. It’s hate. It’s an unimaginable amount of patience. It’s peace with a little havoc, fury with a smidge of mischief, screaming when being silenced, and finally a little chaos when we reign.

Three hours waiting in a graveyard after dark starts to get to you. I don't know why. Maybe it's all the dead people hanging around underground. Whatever it was, by the time my watch said it was ten minutes to midnight, I had a major case of the creeps, the willies, and the heebie-jeebies. At least the flesh-eating zombies were keeping themselves hidden away. I sat there for another ten minutes and the same nothing that had been happening all night continued happening.