Moonstruck Quotes

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) --from "Mad Girl's Love Song: A Villanelle", written 1954

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed and sung me moonstruck, kissed me quite insane. And before you think that's cheesy,that's Sylvia Plath. Google her, young Padawan.

All pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruck madness.

We're at war. On the verge of an apocalypse filled with monsters and torture in a nightmare world. And I'm standing here, a moonstruck teenager pining for an enemy soldier. What am I, crazy? This time, I'm the first to turn away.

Children will always be afraid of the dark, and men with minds sensitive to hereditary impulse will always tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars, or press hideously upon our own globe in unholy dimensions which only the dead and the moonstruck can glimpse.” — “Supernatural Horror in Literature

His suspicion that he was not going in the right direction tortmented him more and more. At last he had the conviction that he would never go anywhere but in the wrong direction, to the very end of the handful of days that was left to him, unhappy moonstruck pilgrim, whose April was to be cut off short.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, Kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

Women should come with instruction manuals.” “Why? That would be totally pointless. I’ve lived with three men my entire life, and I’ve never once seen you guys read instructions.

they’re both moonstruck. You remember how it is in the beginning.” She grimaced. “Yes, a state of derangement with chapped lips.

Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!

dear god, whose name i do not know. thank you for my life. i forgot... how BIG... thank you. thank you for my life.

Love don't make things nice, it ruins everything, it breaks your heart, it makes things a mess. We're not here to make things perfect. Snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. We are here to ruin ourselves and break our hearts and love the wrong people and die.

Tears were coursing down the faces of Kennedy’s moonstruck recruits. John Kennedy had inspired us with his vision. One by one, we left work to grieve in private. The flag was at half-staff in our hearts.

I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.

When the human race can fly to the moon, is there any real need of moonstruck poets?

I’m looking forward to a renewed relationship with Vere, after his ascension.” Because he’s bewitched you, Damen thought. Because you’re moonstruck and you have no idea of his nature. “You

My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know. Everybody you see. Everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant total amazement.

i don't know what your situation is but i wanted you to know what mine is not just to explain some rude behavior, but because we're on a little boat for a while and... i'm soul sick. and you're going to see that.

Oh, these men of former times knew how to dream and did not find it necessary to go to sleep first. And we men of today still master this art all too well, despite all of our good will toward the day and staying awake. It is quite enough to love, to hate, to desire, simply to feel--and right away the spirit and power of the dream overcome us, and with our eyes open, coldly contemptuous of all danger, we climb up on the most hazardous paths to scale the roofs and spires of fantasy--without any sense of dizziness, as if we had been born to climb, we somnambulists of the day! We artists! We ignore what is natural. We are moonstruck and God-struck. We wander, still as death, unwearied, on heights that we do not see as heights but as plains, as our safety.

Unable to sleep, or pray, I stand by the window looking out at moonstruck trees a December storm has bowed with ice. Maple and mountain ash bend under its glassy weight, their cracked branches falling upon the frozen snow. The trees themselves, as in winters past, will survive their burdening, broken thrive. And am I less to You, my God, than they?

What's the matter with you anyway?" Riesenfeld shouts "You look like a moon-struck kangaroo!

We live very dangerous lives. If we don’t jump on the things we want when we want them, we might never get to.

She said she loved this place. This is the last she'll see of it. I'll watch for one tear, one human tear. Not that blank hating moonstruck face. I'll listen.... If she says good-bye perhaps adieu. Adieu -- like those old-time songs she sang. Always adieu (and all the songs say it). If she too says it, or weeps, I'll take her in my arms, my lunatic. She's mad but mine, mine. What will I care for gods or devils or for Fate itself. If she smiles or weeps or both. For me. Antoinetta -- I can be gentle too. Hide your face. Hide yourself but in my arms. You'll soon see how gentle. My lunatic. My mad girl.

O moon that makes restless the hearts of men, That lays an insane beam upon their mind, And laughing makes men mad. - Sunday Night: Truro

Jesus, please, don’t say all Asians look the same,” Atticus begged. “Die with some fucking dignity.

Fucking Blue could have picked up these clues.

Atticus heard himself swallow. “I’m not…prickly.” Jericho snickered. “Freckles, a cactus is tame in comparison.

He’d been in a dating slump since his brothers had decided to start mating for life like psychotic penguins.

Christian placed a hand over my heart, his gaze reeling me in. “Don’t you know? You’re my home, Precious. Always will be.

They don’t call it getting pickled for nothing.” He looked to his father. “The key is to never get sober. You have to make your organs afraid. Make them work with the booze, not against it.

Ye're playing fer the house? But ye won it just a month ago! Why,this land is worth more than yer estate near Stirling!" Now that he'd toured the land and knew the true condition of the house, Dougal was tempted to agree. The deed to MacFarlane House was worth far more than he'd originally thought. Shelton shook his head. "Ye're moonstruck, me lord. Moonstruck and fairy-pinched.

It is as though the moon changed every thing - Myself and all that I can hear and see; For when the heavy body has grown weak, There is nothing that can tether the wild mind That, being moonstruck and fantastical, Goes where it fancies. From The King's Threshold

He was the adult. They were all adults, really, but still. He was the adultiest of the adults at thirty.

Accept what is, rather than forcing what you think should be. Emma

You like mom cars and bow-ties and submitting in bed. I’m here for it.

Levi elbowed him. “We don’t call them that anymore. Show some respect.” Arsen shrugged. “Sorry. What do you call a man roaming the woods looking for sex?

I like when you talk about things you like.

I think Sarah’s being a bit of a drama queen. Like, Jareth is laying out a pretty solid offer. I mean, she’s the one who sacrificed her own brother during a temper tantrum. How’s he the bad guy?

....One dark night, my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull; I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down, they lay together, hull to hull, where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . . My mind's not right. A car radio bleats, "Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell, as if my hand were at its throat. . . . I myself am hell; nobody's here-- only skunks, that search in the moonlight for a bite to eat. They march on their soles up Main Street: white stripes, moonstruck eyes' red fire under the chalk-dry and spar spire of the Trinitarian Church. I stand on top of our back steps and breathe the rich air-- a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail. She jabs her wedge-head in a cup of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail, and will not scare.

It’s like I was born for this. To take care of her. To protect her. It feels too good to have her in my arms like this, taking her back to safety. I can’t find the right words to explain it. All I know is it’s unreal to be able to call this my job. I can safely say that at twenty-two years old, I’ve found my passion.

O-kay,” Noah said, dragging everyone’s attention away from Avi and Felix. “That was both uncomfortable and highly disturbing, so kudos for that, but how about we get rid of the soon-to-be rotting corpse and figure out what we’re going to do about Dr. McCreepypants and his little shop of hospital horrors? Sound good? Great.

I ordered Pad See Ew from the Thai place, ate half of it, watched the 1995 remake of Sabrina starring Harrison Ford, took another shower, downed the last of my Ambien, and found the porn channel again. I turned the volume down low, shifted my body away from the screen so that the grunts and moans could lull me. Still, I didn’t sleep. Life could go on forever like this, I thought. Life would, if I didn’t take action. I fingered myself on the sofa under the blanket, came twice, then turned the TV off. I got up and raised the blinds and sat in a daze for a while and watched the sun go down—was it possible?—then I rewound Sabrina and watched it again and ate the rest of the Pad See Ew. I watched Driving Miss Daisy and Sling Blade. I took a Nembutal and drank half a bottle of Robitussin. I watched The World According to Garp and Stargate and A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors and Moonstruck and Flashdance, then Dirty Dancing and Ghost, then Pretty Woman.

I wasn't shocked by what they were doing as much as I was by Merritt's recklessness. Taking a man into her bed in broad daylight? It's not at all like her. She's behaving as if scandal can't touch her, and she knows better than that." "So does Keir. But they’re both moonstruck. You remember how it is in the beginning.” She grimaced. “Yes, a state of derangement with chapped lips." Folding her arms across her chest, she heaved a sigh. "Tell me about this young man. Is he a silk purse or a sow's ear?" "He's pure gold. A big, fearless lad... engaging and quick-witted. Admittedly, the manners are a bit rustic, and I can't speak as to hygiene: so far, grooming him has been a collective effort. But all in all, a fine young man." "And how is he with Merritt?" Sebastian hesitated before replying, "No one outside a relationship can ever know its inner workings. But from what I've seen, it has the makings of something durable. They talk easily. They pull together in adversity. Many marriages have started with far less, including mine.

Wait, you said one. Does that mean there’s a two? And does this two have anything to do with why your brother and Noah are crashing our anniversary?” Atticus rolled his eyes. “They’re not, I promise. I just needed them to…babysit your present.” “Babysit my present?” Jericho repeated slowly. Atticus grinned. “You’ll see.” Jericho studied Atticus’s face. “Did you, like, adopt a baby without telling me? I think we’ve already got a full house at home.” “Yes, I adopted an infant and asked my brother and his fiancé to drive it out to the middle of the woods so I could present it to you in our murder cabin as a surprise.” When Jericho continued to stare, Atticus laughed.

I’ve known Florence long, sir, but I’ve never known her so lovely as to-night. It’s as if the ghosts of her past were abroad in the empty streets. The present is sleeping; the past hovers about us like a dream made visible. Fancy the old Florentines strolling up in couples to pass judgment on the last performance of Michael, of Benvenuto! We should come in for a precious lesson if we might overhear what they say. The plainest burgher of them in his cap and gown had a taste in the matter! That was the prime of art, sir. The sun stood high in heaven, and his broad and equal blaze made the darkest places bright and the dullest eyes clear. We live in the evening of time! We grope in the gray dusk, carrying each our poor little taper of selfish and painful wisdom, holding it up to the great models and to the dim idea, and seeing nothing but overwhelming greatness and dimness. The days of illumination are gone! But do you know I fancy—I fancy”—and he grew suddenly almost familiar in this visionary fervor—“I fancy the light of that time rests upon us here for an hour! I have never seen the David so grand, the Perseus so fair! Even the inferior productions of John of Bologna and of Baccio Bandinelli seem to realize the artist’s dream. I feel as if the moonlit air were charged with the secrets of the masters, and as if, standing here in religious contemplation, we might—we might witness a revelation!” Perceiving at this moment, I suppose, my halting comprehension reflected in my puzzled face, this interesting rhapsodist paused and blushed. Then with a melancholy smile, “You think me a moonstruck charlatan, I suppose. It’s not my habit to hang about the piazza and pounce upon innocent tourists. But to-night I confess I’m under the charm. And then somehow I fancied you too were an artist!

1. For the space of one entire month (from full moon to full moon), a single leaf from a Mandrake must be carried constantly in the mouth. The leaf must not be swallowed or taken out of the mouth at any point. If the leaf is removed from the mouth, the process must be started again. 2. Remove the leaf at the full moon and place it, steeped in your saliva, in a small crystal phial that receives the pure rays of the moon (if the night is cloudy, you will have to find a new Mandrake leaf and begin the whole process again). To the moon-struck crystal phial, add one of your own hairs, a silver teaspoon of dew collected from a place that neither sunlight nor human feet have touched for a full seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. Put this mixture in a quiet, dark place and do not look at it or otherwise disturb it until the next electrical storm. 3. While waiting for the storm, the following procedure should be followed at sunrise and sundown. The tip of the wand should be placed over the heart and the following incantation spoken: ‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus.’ 4. The wait for a storm may take weeks, months or even years. During this time, the crystal phial should remain completely undisturbed and untouched by sunlight. Contamination by sunlight gives rise to the worst mutations. Resist the temptation to look at your potion until lightning occurs. If you continue to repeat your incantation at sunrise and sunset there will come a time when, with the touch of the wand-tip to the chest, a second heartbeat may be sensed, sometimes more powerful than the first, sometimes less so. Nothing should be changed. The incantation should be uttered without fail at the correct times, never omitting a single occasion. 5. Immediately upon the appearance of lightning in the sky, proceed directly to the place where your crystal phial is hidden. If you have followed all the preceding steps correctly, you will discover a mouthful of blood-red potion inside it.

In old prints melancholy is usually portrayed as a woman, disheveled, deranged, surrounded by broken pitchers, leaning casks, torn books. She may be sunk in unpeaceful sleep, heavy limbed, overpowered by her inability to take the world's measure, her compass and book laid aside. She is very frightening, but the person she frightens most is herself. She is her own disease. Miter shows her wearing a large ungainly dress, winged, a garland in her tangled hair. She has a fierce frown and so great is her disarray that she is closed in by emblems of study, duty, and suffering: a bell, an hourglass, a pair of scales, a globe, a compass, a ladder, nails. Sometimes this woman is shown surrounded by encroaching weeds, a conweb undisturbed above her head. Sometimes she gazes out of the window at a full moon for she is moonstruck. And should melancholy strike a man it will because he is suffering from romantic love: he will lean his padded satin arm on a velvet cushion and gaze skywards under the nodding plume of his hat, or he will grasp a thorn or a nettle and indicate that he does not sleep. These men seem to me to be striking a bit of a pose, unlike women, whose melancholy is less picturesque. The women look as if they are in the grip of an affliction too serious to be put into words. The men, on the other hand, appear to have dressed up for the occasion, and are anxious to put a noble face on their suffering. Which shows that nothing much has changed since the sixteenth century at least in that respect.

Don't let just any man have your grace.' Patience was spinning flax. 'Mariah, you keep yourself for a good man.' Mariah could hear the wheel rattle and whirl, rattle and whirl. 'A good man. Like your pa. On top of him being good, he needs to be a true love.' 'How to know a true love?' 'When you get beyond the moonstruck stage and you hit a rough patch, but you can't stay mad at him for long.

I was starstruck, moonstruck, whatever it was you called the almost otherworldly euphoria rushing through me.

A slow smile formed on Noah’s face as he leaned forward. “Is this about a guy? Have you finally kicked open the closet door? Do you—do you have a boyfriend?

I—” Jericho shook his head. “I ran into a guy.” “With your dick?” Levi asked.

What? Why would fictional characters make me happy? And music is simply a

He looked far more put together than Atticus, who was the color of a naked mole rat and breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

Oh, come on. There’s like a thousand Asian cities.” “Asia is a continent, you dumb fuck. You only need to guess the country.” “You know what I mean. Asia has a bunch of countries,” Trevor whined. “Just forty-eight,” Atticus offered around a bite of peanut butter and dark chocolate, earning a smirk from the stranger.

Was Atticus an annoyingly finicky perfectionist? Yes. But he was Jericho’s annoyingly finicky perfectionist and he would protect what was his, even if it meant hacking off his future in-laws’ appendages until they got the point.

In that moment, all I wanted to do was walk into the house and forget this day had ever existed. I wanted to be with my family and reassure them that everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine. The day had imploded, and I had no idea what we were dealing with now. Why couldn’t we all just catch a break?

Everyone’s allowed a breakdown when the stress gets to them, right? In fact, it’s better to let it out instead of allowing it to fester.

Up to the third floor rises the missus romanian teacher so tall that all the missus teachers of other subjects pretend they’re taller. they have a winding key they turn it in a small opening in their sandals to raise the heels. they pull each other up when entering the school. and sometimes they don’t line up with missus Romanian teacher’s legs. they all waddle swaying sometimes to one side other times to the other. they all carry huge gradebooks under their arms. all the children of the great cities would fit in the gradebooks. and all the hunchbacked missus teachers squeeze their shoulders back. the missus music teacher climbed onto another missus music teacher a peppercorn so that she’d also be like the missus Romanian teacher. how dear she’s to me. i can’t wait for her on the third floor to ask her if i can carry her shopping bags and huge gradebook up to the class with the well-bred children and how happy i am when she drops a glance at me. i take the glance. i shake it and run with it in my arms along the hallway on the third floor. moonstruck. i’m filling up with happiness like a chocolate bar. for i feel like being. she’s so tall that i rise onto my toes to look taller brighter. for i’m a night security guard for real. i carefully put it next to the pack of cigarettes always empty. for i don’t know why they smoke themselves. only blonde i can’t pretend to be in this human body, be. (in english by Diana Manole

I heard screaming,” Atticus heard himself say lamely. The man blinked in confusion, holding up his knife. “They do that when you poke them with this.” Atticus gave him a pissy look. “Yes, I’ve connected the dots, thank you.

This is such bullshit,” Trevor grumbled. “Shut the fuck up, Trevor,” the man snapped. “Hey, fuck you, Jet Li,” Trevor fired back, seemingly realizing the error of his ways when the stranger flicked his gaze towards him. “Jet Li is Chinese, you racist fuck. Do I look Chinese to you, man?” Atticus fought the urge to smile at the loaded question. “How the fuck should I know?” Trevor wailed. “You all—” “Jesus, please, don’t say all Asians look the same,” Atticus begged. “Die with some fucking dignity.

I’m not gay,” Atticus managed, sounding unsure even to himself. The stranger grinned, and Atticus’s stomach did somersaults. “Yeah, but you’re not straight either, are you?” “I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.

You’re covered in blood,” Felix noted. Jericho snorted. “Yeah, kind of a hazard of the job.” Felix scoffed. “Yeah, but you’re also wearing that weird smug, smirky look you only get whenever you get laid, and since you were in an abandoned cabin with Trevor the perv, we’re…alarmed.” He flicked his hand dramatically. “Alarmed,” Jericho echoed. Arsen leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Did you fuck Trevor the perv, Coe?" Felix pulled a face. “I’m just hoping he fucked him before he killed him, not after. Once you cross that line, you don’t come back.” Jericho tried to follow their dizzying thought process, but before he could formulate a response, Nico and Levi arrived. Fuck. Levi looked like a wanted poster had fucked a tattoo model. His inky dark hair fell in his face, and he sucked on a Dum-Dum lollipop. Nico’s springy blond curls hung in his face. He looked surprisingly angelic for somebody who was such a little monster. “What’s up? Why’s everybody looking so constipated?” Levi asked. “Coe fucked Trevor the perv,” Arsen said, as if this was fact and not their wild speculation. Levi wrinkled his nose. “That dude was gay? Or was he, like”—he mimed a blowjob—“trying to bribe his way out of it?” Jericho’s face contorted at the idea of a blowjob from greasy ass Trevor, but they paid him no mind. Nico also looked disgusted. “What the fuck, man? Like, I get it. Who hasn’t wanted to fuck somebody they killed or kill somebody they fucked? But it’s a slippery slope, man.” “This is what I told him,” Arsen said, shaking his head. “Once you cross that line…” “Jesus Christ. I didn’t fuck Trevor the perv. I killed Trevor the perv,” Jericho said, walking around the four of them to head to his office, attempting to close the door behind him. His brother caught it and swung it back open. “If you didn’t fuck Trevor, then who was it? And don’t lie and say it didn’t happen. Your after orgasm glow never lies,” Arsen said, flopping down into a chair hard enough to rock it back dangerously far before it righted itself. “I—” Jericho shook his head. “I ran into a guy.” “With your dick?” Levi asked. Nico’s brows knitted together. “In the middle of the woods?” “Like, a homeless man in the woods? A… What’s the word? A hobo?” Arsen asked. Levi elbowed him. “We don’t call them that anymore. Show some respect.” Arsen shrugged. “Sorry. What do you call a man roaming the woods looking for sex?” “A lie,” Felix said, his mouth set in a hard line. “No way my brother banged some hot, sweaty lumberjack in the woods. That’s not his type.” His long, elegant fingers trailed over his collarbones, a slow smile spreading along his face as his brother seemed to get lost in his own lumberjack fantasy. “I—” “There’s nothing in the woods but animals and Sasquatch,” Nico said. “Sasquatch?” Levi parroted. Nico nodded. “Yeah, you know. Bigfoot.” “Did you fuck Bigfoot?” Levi asked, pulling the lollipop from his mouth with a pop.

His brother, the boys—they were like when people go through war together. They had bonds nothing could touch. They had family, but most of their scars were homegrown. Blood didn’t mean shit to them. He cared about the people who stuck.

Adam scoffed. “Dad was day-drinking. Fucking Blue could have picked up these clues.

Why is it so hard to believe I have a…friend?” “Okay, then. I thought you were at the morgue with your ‘friend,’” August said, hooking his fingers at the word friend. “No. Don’t do that. No air quotes around friend.

Did Jericho want to…date Atticus? Dating seemed such a weak word for something that stemmed from death and exploded in passion every time they were within two feet of each other. Jericho wanted to own Atticus. To keep him. To protect him. He wanted to be his safe place to land. Wanted Atticus to be as vulnerable out of the bedroom as he was inside it.

Technically, he was still in the closet, swearing that this was just a phase, that he wasn’t gay. Jericho had been gay for a long time, and what they were doing felt pretty fucking gay.

Jericho kissed him again. “Good. ‘Cause I have no problems killing to protect what’s mine. I’m sure you know that by now.” Atticus slipped his thigh between Jericho’s, snuggling closer to tuck his head against his chest. “I know. I don’t like killing, but I’d kill for you, too.” Jericho’s stomach fluttered. “I know, Freckles. I know.

As Jericho turned over the engine, Atticus asked, “Why do you think my dad—Thomas—got it wrong? Why do you think I’m not a psychopath?” “A lot of reasons. Because you felt for me after Lucas…did what he had to do. Because you worry so much about what others think about you. Because you embarrass easily, get flustered easily, you love being touched, being praised.” Those were all true, but it wasn’t the real reason he thought Thomas had gotten it wrong. “But mostly, I believe it because I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me.” Jericho swore he could see Atticus’s pulse fluttering in his throat. He flicked his tongue out to lick over his lower lip. “Pretty sure?” Jericho shrugged. “It could just be wishful thinking.” “You want me to be in love with you?” Atticus asked, suspicious. Jericho should have known Atticus would never put himself out there like that. “I mean, I’d hate to think I’m in this alone.” Atticus’s breath left him in a whoosh, like it had been punched from his lungs. “You…love me?” Jericho shook his head. “Was there ever a doubt?

Don’t think of it as dying, think of it as being scrapped for parts.

People who do nothing change nothing.

fucking thirty-year-old virgin.

Don’t you see? Everything’s different now. I’m different now. I’m not that dashing, immortal youth who kissed you in the garden all those years ago.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m not the giddy, moonstruck girl you kissed. I’m a woman now, with my own fears and desires. And a heart that’s grown stronger than you’d credit. Strong enough to contain four years’ worth of love.” He cleared his throat and studied the wood paneling. The whorls of grain twisted and churned as he blinked. “You should have saved it for someone else.” “I’ve never wanted anyone else.” She tugged on his chin until he met her gaze. “Luke. Fight for me.

They say bread is life. And I bake bread, bread, bread. And I sweat and shovel this stinkin’ dough in and out of this hot hole in the wall, and I should be so happy! Huh, sweetie? —Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck

How do I know this is true? I mean, this Elohim has never shown his face to me all these years, and now all of a sudden, I am told to leave everything and follow him? It is bizarre.” “Are you moonstruck, father?” said Methuselah, a common insult in the city of the sun god. “After all these years of your wild and unbelievable dreams, you question this one — now?” Enoch retorted, “And you now are the gullible true believer? Or is that just your habit of being contrary and impulsive?” “I am not being contrary. I cannot explain it. I just know it is true.” “You cannot explain it,” repeated Enoch. “Well, now you know how I feel, and what I have been trying to tell you all these years.

You may think you want me, but it’s Denny you need. You deserve to be happy, Cecily. Adored, doted upon, surrounded by a half-dozen blue-eyed children. I want you to have that life.” “Then give me that life.” “I can’t. Don’t you see? Everything’s different now. I’m different now. I’m not that dashing, immortal youth who kissed you in the garden all those years ago.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m not the giddy, moonstruck girl you kissed. I’m a woman now, with my own fears and desires. And a heart that’s grown stronger than you’d credit. Strong enough to contain four years’ worth of love.” He cleared his throat and studied the wood paneling. The whorls of grain twisted and churned as he blinked. “You should have saved it for someone else.” “I’ve never wanted anyone else.” She tugged on his chin until he met her gaze. “Luke. Fight for me.” He shook his head. “I’m done with fighting.” “And I’m done with waiting,” she said. “If you walk away from me again . . .” “We’re finished. I know.” Tenderly, he hooked a wisp of her hair with his fingertip and slowly tucked it behind her ear. “Marry Denny.” She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “What a liar you are. You keep insisting you’ve changed, but you haven’t changed one bit. Toying with my affections one moment, callously discarding them the next. I can’t decide whether you’re deceiving me or just lying to yourself.” “Don’t overthink it, Cecy.” Turning aside, he tugged casually on each of his cuffs. “You said it best last night. I’m an arrogant, insufferable cad.” He

There’s a mix of longing and sadness in his eyes, but he’s not letting me get any closer. Seeing that brings me back to myself. Back to the here and now. The invasion. My mom. My sister. The massacres. They all come rushing back. He’s right. We’re at war. On the verge of an apocalypse filled with monsters and torture in a nightmare world. And I’m standing here, a moonstruck teenager pining for an enemy soldier. What am I, crazy?

He was insane. She’d thrown her lot in with a moonstruck fool. “Yes,

Shall I hunt you, then?” “Yes, but due to my age and power, you would never be able to catch me, so I shall make it easier for you.” He grinned rakishly. “Although, not too easy.” “And shall I bite you when I catch you?” Lydia couldn’t hold back a suggestive smile. “Angelica told me she feeds from her husband on occasion.” She licked her lips at the thought of sinking her fangs into Vincent’s neck and tangling her fingers in his moonstruck hair as his rich, powerful blood caressed her tongue. Eyeing his bare throat with desire, she was grateful Angelica had instructed everyone to dress shabbily to avoid being recognized. Now the scheme had even more delightful merit. “To do so would be considered an insult, for you would be stealing another’s power…except in the case of lovers, where it is considered a gift. In this instance, I suppose you may claim a taste as your prize.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “If you catch me.” Lovers… Lydia blinked, and Vincent was gone. “Amazing,

Oh, Draven," Simon said in a falsetto as he clasped his hands together and held them to his shoulder. He gave Draven a worshipful look. "You're my hero too!" Simon sniffed as if he were holding back tears and threw his arms about Draven's shoulders. "If not for you, that mean old boar would have eaten me alive." Draven pushed Simon away from him. "Get off me, you nimble-pated gelding." "But Draven," Simon said again in his falsetto, "you're my hero. Give me a kiss." Draven ducked Simon's embrace and stepped behind Emily. "What are you? Moonstruck?" "Fine then," Simon snapped. "Here, Emily, you kiss him for me." And before either one knew what Simon was about, she found herself tossed into Draven's arms. Their bodies collided. Draven's arms encircled her, and for a moment she couldn't breathe as she stared up into those startled blue eyes. Heat sizzled between them, skipping along both their bodies. Stealing their breath and setting fire to their blood. When Draven made no move to kiss her, Simon tasked. "Fine then," Simon said, pulling her out of Draven's embrace and into his own. "Let me show you how a kiss is given." Simon dipped his lips to hers, but before he could make contact, Draven caught his chin in one hand and pulled his face away from hers. "If your lips so much as pucker near hers, I will geld you, brother." -Simon & Draven

Rose: Cosmo, I just want you to know that no matter what you do, you’re going to die, just like everybody else. Cosmo: Thank you, Rose!

The moment Colden saw Fia, he became moonstruck all over again—a foolish notion for a man who might outlive everyone he would ever know. But Fia felt the same. The two were inseparable the first couple of days of the celebration, and on that third night, Fia danced with Colden until the poor man could barely see beyond the stars in his eyes. He’d found joy again, and he wanted to cling to it. With the rest of the world distracted, Fia led Colden to her dwelling.” “For what?” I sign. Instantly, I regret the words, my fingers recoiling. Alexus grins. “What do you think? She wanted him.” He looks at me pointedly. “You know how desire can be. Completely consuming.

He needed to know that Atticus was as territorial as he was, as fucked up over him as he was over Atticus. That he’d kill for him. Die for him. That this obsessive compulsion was a two-way street. That there was some kind of unspoken agreement that the only way out of this relationship – no matter how fucked up – was if one of them stopped breathing.

Oh, yeah. Okay, so I think we can all agree that none of you are even remotely qualified to broach this topic with your father. You will literally ruin everything and leave him worse off than you found him.

You there, Calliope?” Thomas called. “Does Raggedy Ann have a cotton crotch?” Calliope chirped through the speaker.

I’m just saying, that as somebody who’s had to put together more than one fundraiser, I can’t imagine a toddler pulling it off. Just obtaining a liquor license alone would pose an insurmountable problem and, believe me, you cannot host a party without liquor. It’s impossible.

I can do this fast or I can do this pretty. Which do you prefer?” Arsen blinked sweat from his eyes. “Fast. I’m already pretty.

I could surgically remove your testicles without so much as smudging my eyeliner, you cretin.

God, that’s hot. Just remember, kitten, in the office you have to call me Mr. Cretin. I wouldn’t want anybody to think I’m playing favorites.

We are here to ruin ourselves, to break our hearts, love the wrong people, and die,” she said. “John Patrick Shanley wrote that; it’s from the movie Moonstruck.

Here, in my little circumscribed world, I remained out of touch with the world at large. I was living full, rich days and felt no need for a newspaper, radio, or TV. The mosquitos were starting to swarm outside the tent, their vast numbers producing an audible hum. I was woken briefly at 11:30 p.m. by a vocalizing pair of Common Loons as they flew overhead. Then I heard the drumming of a Ruffed Grouse-he must have been moonstruck.

Who are you fucking people?” Jericho’s smile unnerved even Atticus. “Neighborhood watch.

He’d never thought of himself as same sex oriented, but there was no denying he was Jericho-sexual. He just did it for him in every way.

Okay, so I think we can all agree that none of you are even remotely qualified to broach this topic with your father. You will literally ruin everything and leave him worse off than you found him.

But mostly, I believe it because I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me.” Jericho swore he could see Atticus’s pulse fluttering in his throat. He flicked his tongue out to lick over his lower lip. “Pretty sure?” Jericho shrugged. “It could just be wishful thinking.” “You want me to be in love with you?” Atticus asked, suspicious. Jericho should have known Atticus would never put himself out there like that. “I mean, I’d hate to think I’m in this alone.” Atticus’s breath left him in a whoosh, like it had been punched from his lungs. “You…love me?” Jericho shook his head. “Was there ever a doubt?

If you are done staring like a moonstruck lamb, Rand al'Thor," Nynaeve said, "perhaps you can tell me why you were talking about something even you three great bull calves ought to have sense enough to keep out of your mouths.

You’re covered in blood,” Felix noted. Jericho snorted. “Yeah, kind of a hazard of the job.” Felix scoffed. “Yeah, but you’re also wearing that weird smug, smirky look you only get whenever you get laid, and since you were in an abandoned cabin with Trevor the perv, we’re…alarmed.” He flicked his hand dramatically. “Alarmed,” Jericho echoed. Arsen leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Did you fuck Trevor the perv, Coe? Felix pulled a face. “I’m just hoping he fucked him before he killed him, not after. Once you cross that line, you don’t come back.

The hardest task for a parent was to encourage them to grow, but not too fast for their own good.

If vegetarians love animals so much, why do they eat all their food?