Pretty Boys Are Poisonous Quotes

Look! A riddle! Time for fun! Should we use a rope or gun? Knives are sharp and gleam so pretty Poison’s slow, which is a pity Fire is festive, drowning’s slow Hanging’s a ropy way to go A broken head, a nasty fall A car colliding with a wall Bombs make a very jolly noise Such ways to punish naughty boys! What shall we use? We can’t decide. Just like you cannot run or hide. Ha ha. Truly, Devious

I didn’t realize how much of myself I was giving away or how much of me was disappearing until I turned on a light and couldn’t even find my shadow.

Maybe the original sin was a man taking a woman for granted.

And so I have spent all of my life making myself small so that others can feel confident.

i will always be in love with the man that you’ll never become

Nature Lesson The dress code says we must cover ourselves in ample pants, skirts that reach well below our lascivious knees, polos buttoned over the rim of the canyon, a glimpse of which can send a boy plunging to such depths he may never climb back up to algebra. We say that if a hiker strays off the path, trips, and winds up crippled, is it really the canyon's fault?

..you would never hurt me on purpose.. but what's the difference between manslaughter and murder? -I'm Still Dead Either Way

..why do you sacrifice me to feed the things that haunt you.

..-You'D Be So Much More Handsome If You'd Get An Exorcism

i will always be in love with the man that you’ll never become • unrealized potential

..you will find that bibles and silver bullets will fail you.. you will collapse into a pathetic little heap on the floor.. you will let him feast on your tears and your self-esteem.. instead you will live forever as the monster he turned you into. -Lessons in Hot-Boy Demonology

..this fairy tale.. will end prematurely with one of us reading a eulogy. -Funerals Are For Lovers

..you can never outrun the wolves.

..all these tears i've cried for you . . . oceans of grief.

maybe the apple was actually a cock and maybe eve wanted it because adam was too busy, self-absorbed, and distracted to fuck her? maybe the original sin was a man taking a woman for granted • i’ve always liked serpents

..imagine all the girls who don't get hurt for laughing at another boy's jokes..

I can feel you reaching for me.. across time zones.

..celestial threads weaving you into me..

..I know I've earned a mansion for all the times I forgave you for calling me a stupid c**t. -Seventy Times Seven

..lucifer was god's most beautiful creation and the way your body has had me speaking in tongues.. -An Angel With A Fully Automatic

..Manic-Depressive Peter Pan

when they ask you who was your greatest love don’t whisper my name scream it and when they ask you what is your biggest regret don’t write it in a song cut yourself open and write it in blood • prove it, orpheus

My problem is that I deeply identify my feelings and have multitudinous ways of articulating them, but I am not able to express them because when I do it has made the men who have loved me feel intimidated, inadequate and insecure.

My problem is that I deeply identify my feelings and have multitudinous ways of articulating them, but I am not able to express them because when I do it has made the men who have loved me feel intimidated, inadequate, and insecure.

when he walks away with your soul in his mouth you will pray for death but instead you will live forever

This book is for anyone who has given much more than they received, or for anyone who struggles to believe they deserve to be heard. This book is also for me. Because fuck. I deserve better.

..I've stopped trying to share charming anecdotes over dinner.. because we've all seen what happens when a smile creeps across my lips that you didn't put there.. I forgot that I had a voice long before you decided to become my ventriloquist and somehow in spite of your genuine longing to be loved you prefer it this way.

They say that nothing lasts forever and so I drag myself out of bed and smile for my children counting the hours until I can dematerialize into the murky realm of my unconscious searching for even the most fleeting moment of relief from this devasting wildfire inside my chest

you thought that if you stopped watering me i would die but you forgot to dig up my roots

i am realizing that this fairy tale will not have a happily ever after instead it will end prematurely with one of us reading a eulogy • funerals are for lovers

you’ll never understand how painful it is to always have to wonder who i’m giving my heart to today

i used to believe love was a poem now i know love is a killing spree

and my heart never rests because it does not trust the hand that holds it

if i had a nickel for every time you showed up for me i would have exactly zero nickels but i know i’ve earned a mansion in heaven for all the times i forgave you

..tall, thin, twisted like a tree you'd find in sleepy hollow..

I wish your moods were as easy to predict.. but there is no app to help me navigate.. your unhinged emotions.

when he walks away with your soul in his mouth you will pray for death but instead you will live forever as the monster he turned you into

i didn’t realize how much of myself i was giving away or how much of me was disappearing until i turned on a light and couldn’t even find my shadow

i’m tired of being a supporting actor in everyone else’s life while being a featured extra in my own

greek tragedies lose their poetry when you live them

Sage is a poison apple. Too pretty for her own good, but could kill you with one single bite. Even at the thought of that, I’m still ready to sink my teeth into her.

Not all goddesses fly, some of us struggle on the ground, as the mortal men we gave our hearts to, keep their feet on our necks, but one day, we will remember our own names, and turn them all to ashes

Callum looks like a fairy-tale prince, ready to ride in on a white horse and save the day. In all reality, he's the villain, the one you're supposed to hate, but can't because he's too damn pretty. That's how he gets you in the end, like a poisonous butterfly, too beautiful for the crow to resist.

Imagine what it's like to be (untouchable) Better not take a chance on me (untouchable) I'm the bad boy your mama told you about I'm dangerous, without a doubt Even coming off a ten-year drought Untouchable I'm the rose with hidden thorns (untouchable) Don't tell me that you haven't been warned (untouchable) I'm pretty poison under the skin, The bite of the apple that's a mortal sin In a game of love you'll never win Untouchable My reputation's fairly earned (untouchable) If you play with fire, you will get burned (untouchable) Stay out of the kitchen if you can't take the heat, My kisses are deadly as they are sweet, I'm a runaway bus on a dead-end street Untouchable Fools rush in, that's what they say(untouchable) But angels fall, too, most every day (untouchable) I'm the snake in the garden, the siren on the reef I have the face of a saint and the heart of a thief I'll promise you love! And bring you nothing but grief Untouchable Hearing Jonah sing like this was like watching him slice himself open and show off his insides. Why would he do that? Why would be write such a song? And then Emma answered her own question. Because good music always tells the truth, no matter how much it hurts. Emma couldn't be the only one who felt the bite of the blade, but everyone else seemed to take it in stride. Did they know? Did they all know about Jonah? Of course they did. They were there when it happened. They'd allow Jonah to keep the secrets that were most important to him. She knew she shouldn't resent that, but she still did. They must have known she was falling for him. They must have.

She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play. One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her the in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from her lover’s lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reed-like throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary women never appeal to one’s imagination. They are limited to their century. No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in any of them:

Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play. One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian Tomb, sucking the poison from her lover's lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reed-like throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in one of them.

I don't know what your Company is feeling as of today about the work of Dr. Alice Hamilton on benzol [benzene] poisoning. I know that back in the old days some of your boys used to think that she was a plain nuisance and just picking on you for luck. But I have a hunch that as you have learned more about the subject, men like your good self have grown to realize the debt that society owes her for her crusade. I am pretty sure that she has saved the lives of a great many girls in can-making plants and I would hate to think that you didn't agree with me.

Poem for My Father You closed the door. I was on the other side, screaming. It was black in your mind. Blacker than burned-out fire. Blacker than poison. Outside everything looked the same. You looked the same. You walked in your body like a living man. But you were not. would you not speak to me for weeks would you hang your coat in the closet without saying hello would you find a shoe out of place and beat me would you come home late would i lose the key would you find my glasses in the garbage would you put me on your knee would you read the bible to me in your smoking jacket after your mother died would you come home drunk and snore would you beat me on the legs would you carry me up the stairs by my hair so that my feet never touch the bottom would you make everything worse to make everything better i believe in god, the father almighty, the maker of heaven, the maker of my heaven and my hell. would you beat my mother would you beat her till she cries like a rabbit would you beat her in a corner of the kitchen while i am in the bathroom trying to bury my head underwater would you carry her to the bed would you put cotton and alcohol on her swollen head would you make love to her hair would you caress her hair would you rub her breasts with ben gay until she stinks would you sleep in the other room in the bed next to me while she sleeps on the pull-out cot would you come on the sheet while i am sleeping. later i look for the spot would you go to embalming school with the last of my mother's money would i see your picture in the book with all the other black boys you were the handsomest would you make the dead look beautiful would the men at the elks club would the rich ladies at funerals would the ugly drunk winos on the street know ben pretty ben regular ben would your father leave you when you were three with a mother who threw butcher knives at you would he leave you with her screaming red hair would he leave you to be smothered by a pillow she put over your head would he send for you during the summer like a rich uncle would you come in pretty corduroys until you were nine and never heard from him again would you hate him would you hate him every time you dragged hundred pound cartons of soap down the stairs into white ladies' basements would you hate him for fucking the woman who gave birth to you hate him flying by her house in the red truck so that other father threw down his hat in the street and stomped on it angry like we never saw him (bye bye to the will of grandpa bye bye to the family fortune bye bye when he stompled that hat, to the gold watch, embalmer's palace, grandbaby's college) mother crying silently, making floating island sending it up to the old man's ulcer would grandmother's diamonds close their heartsparks in the corner of the closet yellow like the eyes of cockroaches? Old man whose sperm swims in my veins, come back in love, come back in pain.

If I’m ever tempted to let it get to my head, all I have to do is remember the first time I was recognized in public. I was with Jennie Garth, back in Season 3. She was way more famous than me (Derek Who?) and she was asked to the Eiffel Tower ceremony at the Paris Las Vegas hotel. They shut off half the strip and there were thousands of people outside the hotel lined up to see it. I was onstage supporting her, when I was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. I knew instantly I had food poisoning from something I’d eaten earlier in the day. I knew if I didn’t get off the stage at that moment, I was going to throw up--and that would be the story on the evening news, not Jennie’s lighting! I jumped off the stage and just wanted to get back to my room where I could vomit in peace. As I was racing through the hotel lobby, a few people stopped me. “Aren’t you Derek Hough from Dancing with the Stars?” I was trying to be polite, but I just kept eyeing garbage cans in case I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Yeah, thanks,” I said. I signed a few autographs and tried to push my way to the elevators. “Wait! Derek! Can I get you to sign this?” More people started coming at me. I swear, I had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t hurl! When I finally got upstairs, I threw up thirty-two times. I was deathly ill. But somewhere, in that haze of hellish food poisoning, it hit me: This is pretty cool! People know who I am! But I’ve tried my hardest not to let that change me. I’m kind of a free spirit; what you see is what you get. Inside is still that crazy little boy who liked to bounce off his living room walls.

You don’t look pretty,” I growled and her expression slammed into bitch gear, but I didn’t give a shit. “You look like the most lethal poison I’ve ever seen. It’s fucking divine.

i wish your moods were as easy to predict as the weather but there is no app to help me navigate the treacherous landscape of your unhinged emotions • boys without mothers

you are the one who has held my hand from the beginning of time this journey isn’t a pretty one and i can’t make them understand that the only way i will really move on from you is when my body turns to dust • labyrinth

will always be in love with the man that you’ll never become

Death hit people differently. She was getting by. He had all but given up. There was no middle ground as woman. She was used to it, but it still pissed her off. Frigid, or a slag. Girly, or one of the boys. Hrad, or emotionally unstable. When USA sneezed , the UK caught the cold. Her face was often difficult to read, but at that moment it told him whatever McEvoy found Margie Knight o not, she'd tear every dodgy sauna, massage parlour and tin-pot knocking shop in the city apart trying. It might have been a few minutes, it might have been an hour, when he heard Holland's voice... The mood she is in right now, Holland, if you're so much as suggest that it might be her time of the month, I'm guessing she'll kill you on the spot. I think the poison inside me has eaten away every ounce of courage there might ever have been. I need to find just a little more. "Look, I'm getting tired of saying sorry" "Well I'm not tired of hearing you say it, OK?" Maybe they bred them somewhere, taught then how to put their hair in a bun and look down their pointed noses, before sending them out into the world with a pair of bug glasses, a fondness for tweed and something uncomfortable up their backside. "I'm going to kill Holland. No, I'm going to make him listen to some proper country music and then I'm going to kill him." "Actually, fuck that, the music would be wasted on him anyway. I'll just kill him." "fuckfuckbullocksfuck..." "What? I make you sick? I make you want to hurt me?" "You knock, you wait, you get asked to come in, you come in. It's pretty bloody straightforward." ...sat at home like Tom Throne, trying to keep the rest of the world well away. Police officer and prison staff are old enemies. The finders and the keepers resenting each other. 'Everybody says it switches around when you get old and they have to look after you. The parent becomes the child...It's non sense though., it really is. Even when they're cooking for you and getting your shopping in, you know? Even when they're doing up the buttons on your pyjamas and pretending to listen to your stupid stories, even when they're wiping your arse, you're still the father--It never stops, never. You're still the father and he's still the son. Still the son...' A thin layer across the top of the cistern in the ladies, invisible unless used in some of the more drugs-conscious clubs. ...Depending on how it looks, thy either do nothing, or break it again, re-set it.' 'Do they need volunteers?' "Don't talk to me. Not like that, do you understand? Not 'are you all right?' Not 'sorry'..." "I don't..." "Talk to me like a murdered." Holland couldn't believe what he was hearing. Palmer? 'Sorry?' Throne shouted. 'Fucking sorry...?' 'Shut your fucking stupid cunt's mouth. I will kill you, is that clear? I'm not afraid, certainly not of you. I don't care what happens. He can shoot the pair of us, I don't give a fuck. But if I hear so much as a breath coming out of you before this is finished, a single poisonous whisper, I'll rip your face off with my bare hands. I'll take it clean off, Nicklin, I'll make you another nice, new identity...

but how will you ever know if i’m smiling when you can’t see past your own tears

My problem is that I deeply identify my feelings and have multitudinous ways of articulating them, but I am not able to express them because when I do it has made the men who have loved me feel intimidated, inadequate, and insecure. And so I have spent all of my life making myself small so that others can feel confident.

irate, you protest loudly that you are a free spirit but your spirit isn't free it's an indentured servant to the entities that occupy you you're imprisoned by all of the demons you've bartered with renting space in your body to them in exchange for a life that doesn't even make you happy why do you sacrifice me to feed the things that haunt you

In all reality, he's the villain, the one you're supposed to hate, but can't because he's too damn pretty. That's how he gets you in the end, like a poisonous butterfly, too beautiful for the crow to resist.

Are you and Imani dating, dating, like, for real now?” “Dating João?” Imani said, peeking her head into the room and scrunching her nose playfully. “Ew, boys are gross.” Ana giggled for the first time tonight, and then she turned back to me and pointed at Imani. “But I know that you like her. She’s so pretty and perfect for you, João. You have so much in common, like you both love me!

I have spent all of my life making myself small so that others can feel confident.

Before you, I’ve never been this close to someone, especially not this intimate.” “Really?” “But when Landon mentioned that you were a freak, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to tie you to my bedposts and make those pretty brown eyes of yours teary,” he murmured against my skin. My lips curled into a smile, and I playfully shoved him away. “Ugh, way to ruin the moment,” I teased.

rehearse for your performance as the grief stricken lover

Why did bad boys like Jackson Deveaux always attract girls like Evie? It'd been that way at my high school. The only attention I had received from pretty girls was their laughter when I’d shown up for class with a busted lip or an awkward new cast. They’d spurned me for things I could not control. I remind myself that I took control of my parents – and I no longer have to worry about attracting a girl’s attention; I have a captive audience of beautiful females. Yes, these days Arthur gets all the girls. I keep them in my basement. I nearly chuckle.

The past stayed with you. The past was like poison, and it built up in you like poison, like lead in your tap water, until it killed you.

i prefer the agonizing psychological abuse of this trauma bond to the prosaic tedium of a regular life

My soul is full of holes from your acid-soaked love.

I wish your moods were as easy to predict as the weather but there is no app to help me navigate the treacherous landscape of your unhinged emotions

I often wonder how something so pretty could be so iniquitous but they say lucifer was god’s most beautiful creation and the way your body has had me speaking in tongues i can confirm that is not an allegory a paradoxical embodiment of heaven’s brightest light and hell’s most unimaginable wickedness an angel with a fully automatic

Shapeshifter show me your face look into my eyes and lie again hide from your past hide from your path bury my light beneath your deception bury the truth beneath my longing tear the veil and let me see what can’t be undone the fall

And to the girl who gave me her entire life for nothing in return i leave my violence and my resentment

I know that i’m too good for you but i still crave hades’ touch even though it’s harsh and unforgiving i’d still choose an eternal winter with you over an evanescent spring with someone else i’m still willing to live in the shadows because somewhere along the way i learned that i don’t deserve to see the light pomegranates for sale

i know that i’m too good for you but i still crave hades’ touch even though it’s harsh and unforgiving i’d still choose an eternal winter with you over an evanescent spring with someone else i’m still willing to live in the shadows because somewhere along the way i learned that i don’t deserve to see the light

his eyes had lost their tears long ago he was a different kind of beast the kind that hides from the moon he creeps in the shadows so she doesn’t see his fangs he wasn’t born this way he was turned into this