Rage Of Dragons Quotes

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Just because you said dragon demons were extinct—" "I said mostly extinct." Alec jabbed a finger toward him. "Mostly extinct," he said, his voice trembling with rage, "is NOT EXTINCT ENOUGH." "I see," said Jace. "I'll just have them change the entry in the demonology textbook from 'almost extinct' to 'not extinct enough for Alec. He prefers his monsters really, really extinct.' Will that make you happy?
Cassandra Clare (City of Ashes (The Mortal Instruments, #2))
And Annwyl. Remember what I told you." "Protect my right side?" "No." "Feint with my left?" "No." "Nice ass?" "No!" His growl of annoyance only elicited a sweet chuckle from his woman. "Watch my rage, heart of my heart?" "Condescending cow.
G.A. Aiken (Dragon Actually (Dragon Kin, #1))
To be kin to a dragon, you must not only have a soul of water. You must have the blood of the sea, and the sea is not always pure. It is not any one thing. There is darkness in it, and danger, and cruelty. It can raze great cities with its rage. Its depths are unknowable; they do not see the touch of the sun. To be a Miduchi is not to be pure, Tané. It is to be the living sea. That is why I chose you. You have a dragon’s heart.
Samantha Shannon (The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos, #1))
I'd rather live with a thing done poorly than do nothing and always wonder how things could have been.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning #1))
The days without difficulty are the days you do not improve.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
I’m sorry, the message said. The theft was a violation of privacy. It was an unbelievable act of impudence and disrespect. Not only that, it was—baffling. He was murderous, incandescent with fury. He was older than sin and could not remember when he had last been in such a rage. He looked at the paper again. I’m sorry I had to take your penny. Here’s another to replace it. Yep, that’s what it said. One corner of his mouth twitched. He gave himself a deep shock when he burst into an explosive guffaw.
Thea Harrison (Dragon Bound (Elder Races, #1))
I can't imagine a world where the man holding a sword does not have the last say over the man without one.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning #1))
Life is nothing more than moments in time. To achieve greatness, you have to give up those moments. You have to give your life to your goal.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
There was an agelessness about him, a stillness; on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.
George R.R. Martin (A Dance with Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, #5))
I’m not asking you to win. That’s not solely in your control,” Aren said. “I’m asking that you fight to win. Anything less is the acceptance of loss and an admission that you deserve it.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
He was not the strongest, the quickest, or the most talented, not by any measure. He knew this and knew he could not control this. However, he could control his effort, the work he put in, and there he would not be beaten.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
“MAKE RED YOUR CLAWS WITH HUMAN BLOOD…OBLITERATE THE HUMAN FILTH…” “Ooh, that’s a nice song,” said the Hogfly, ever polite.
Cressida Cowell (How to Betray a Dragon's Hero (How to Train Your Dragon, #11))
Breathe in, breath out. Oxygen is carcinogenic and likely puts a limit on our life span. It would be unwise though, to try to extend life by not breathing at all. Which of us doesn't do it? Either we loll in anaerobic stupor, too afraid to fill our lungs with risky beauty, or we roll out fire like dragons, destroying the world we love. I try not to burn up my world with rage. It is so hard.
Jeanette Winterson (Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Heracles)
It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile or dragon. People normally seem to be hiding this true nature, but an occasion will arise (as when an ox sedately ensconced in a grassy meadow suddenly lashes out with its tail to kill the horsefly on its flank) when anger makes them reveal in a flash human nature in all its horror.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
The wars you’ll wage aren’t decided when you fight them. They’re decided before that, by the extent of your effort and the substance of your sacrifices. They are decided by the choices you make every single day. So ask yourself: ‘how powerful do I choose to be?
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
And, like that, there was no going back. A Dragon had been called and someone would have to die.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
The debate raged on for so long, at last Saphira had interrupted with a roar that shook the walls of the command tent. Then she said, I am sore and tired, and Eragon is doing a poor job of explaining himself. We have better things to do than stand around yammering like jackdaws, no? ... Good now listen to me. It was reflected Eragon, hard to argue with a dragon.
Christopher Paolini (Brisingr (The Inheritance Cycle, #3))
I found myself hating him, wanting to hurt him, to drive him away from the red-haired girl who was supposed to be mine. Breathless, I slumped to the wall, numb with the realization. This anger, these illogical feelings of rage and possessiveness...I was jealous. I was jealous of a girl I was supposed to be stalking, seducing, for the sole purpose of revealing her true nature. This had become more than an objective, more than a mission. I was falling for her.
Julie Kagawa (Talon (Talon, #1))
on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.
George R.R. Martin (A Dance with Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, #5))
I could feel the darkness inside me, a roiling mass of rage and savagery, waiting to be unleashed. The last thing I wanted was to turn on the girl who had rescued my soul.
Julie Kagawa (Night of the Dragon (Shadow of the Fox, #3))
They should have warned you that little princesses grow up to be red rocks and raging seas, fire dragons and warrior queens.
Melody Lee (Vine: Book of Poetry)
Let them think me a monster,” the Dragon Queen thought. “I will be a monster, if it means we survive.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
Even from pain, sometimes beauty emerges. Your rage is beauty. Your courage is beauty. Your Compassion is beauty.
Milla Vane (A Heart of Blood and Ashes (A Gathering of Dragons, #1))
But the winds will still blow when I am no longer here. The storms will still rage, and the forces of Empire and oppression, be they Roman or otherwise, will still be waiting at the corners of the ocean. The fight goes on for the Heroes of the Future.
Cressida Cowell (How to Speak Dragonese (How to Train Your Dragon, #3))
Every adventure undertaken, every prophecy spoken or sung, every dangerous road pointed to this simple truth - a battle between good and evil rages every day.
Bryan Davis (Tears of a Dragon (Dragons in Our Midst, #4))
the edges of the steel blade as Iron glamour flared around her, a maelstrom of deadly power. I saw her lips move, a name on them, perhaps mine, and felt nothing. My glamour rose up to meet hers, cold and dangerous, and our powers slammed into each other with the roar of dueling dragons. Flashes of images, like broken mirror shards, falling to the earth. Iron and ice, clashing against each other. Rage and hate, swirling in vicious, ugly colors around us. Glamour and pain and blood.
Julie Kagawa (The Iron Knight (The Iron Fey, #4))
In a small way, the world changed that day, when the Nobles of Scale Ozioma broke and ran, scattered by a new and horrible creature, born in Uhmlaba but bred in Isihogo.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
I became the color red boiling-hot lava rising to the surface I became a dragon and the planet Mars I became war I became rage and revenge
Ibi Zoboi (Punching the Air)
Under that frail veneer of control was an ongoing scream of rage that originated in confusion and culminated in an overwhelming urge for destruction, if only so he could tear the world down and rebuild it in a way that made sense.
R.F. Kuang (The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War, #2))
You with your deep philosophical ramblings." "You like my deep philosophical ramblings. " "Not when they interfere with my ridiculous rages. It's extremely hard to flounce away with any dignity when you're so busy rationalizing.
G.A. Aiken (Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin, #4))
I wish I'd been accepted sooner and better. When I was younger, not being accepted made me enraged, but now, I am not inclined to dismantle my history. If you banish the dragons, you banish the heroes--and we become attached to the heroic strain in our personal history. We choose our own lives. It is not simply that we decide on the behaviors that construct our experience; when given our druthers, we elect to be ourselves. Most of us would like to be more successful or more beautiful or wealthier, and most people endure episodes of low self-esteem or even self-hatred. We despair a hundred times a day. But we retain the startling evolutionary imperative for the fact of ourselves, and with that splinter of grandiosity we redeem our flaws. These parents have, by and large, chosen to love their children, and many of them have chosen to value their own lives, even though they carry what much of the world considers an intolerable burden. Children with horizontal identities alter your self painfully; they also illuminate it. They are receptacles for rage and joy-even for salvation. When we love them, we achieve above all else the rapture of privileging what exists over what we have merely imagined. A follower of the Dalai Lama who had been imprisoned by the Chinese for decades was asked if he had ever been afraid in jail, and he said his fear was that he would lose compassion for his captors. Parents often think that they've captured something small and vulnerable, but the parents I've profiled here have been captured, locked up with their children's madness or genius or deformity, and the quest is never to lose compassion. A Buddhist scholar once explained to me that most Westerners mistakenly think that nirvana is what you arrive at when your suffering is over and only an eternity of happiness stretches ahead. But such bliss would always be shadowed by the sorrow of the past and would therefore be imperfect. Nirvana occurs when you not only look forward to rapture, but also gaze back into the times of anguish and find in them the seeds of your joy. You may not have felt that happiness at the time, but in retrospect it is incontrovertible. For some parents of children with horizontal identities, acceptance reaches its apogee when parents conclude that while they supposed that they were pinioned by a great and catastrophic loss of hope, they were in fact falling in love with someone they didn't yet know enough to want. As such parents look back, they see how every stage of loving their child has enriched them in ways they never would have conceived, ways that ar incalculably precious. Rumi said that light enters you at the bandaged place. This book's conundrum is that most of the families described here have ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.
Andrew Solomon (Far from the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity)
Every day must be hard for you. The days without difficulty are the days you do not improve. The days you do not improve are the days the men behind you close the distance.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger.
George R.R. Martin (A Dance with Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, #5))
Tribe life is not easy for anyone. But at least I was born female. I hate to think what my life would be like if I had not been." That made the dragon chuckle. "You don't hear that very often from Southlander women." "I do not know why," Elina answered honestly. "I would never want to be man. That cock hanging between your legs all day. You have no control of emotions. If we leave you to yourselves, you destroy without though; rage without reason; and attempt to fuck anything that wants you to leave them be.
G.A. Aiken (Light My Fire (Dragon Kin, #7))
The forge and dove shall break the cage. Wasn’t that the prophecy line? That meant Piper and he would have to figure out how to break into that magic rock prison, assuming they could find it. Then they’d unleash Hera’s rage, causing a lot of death. Well, that sounded fun! Leo had seen Tía Callida in action; she liked knives, snakes, and putting babies in roaring fires. Yeah, definitely let’s unleash her rage. Great idea. Festus kept flying. The wind got colder, and below them snowy forests seemed to go on forever. Leo didn’t know exactly where Quebec was. He’d told Festus to take them to the palace of Boreas, and Festus kept going north. Hopefully, the dragon knew the way, and they wouldn’t end up at the North Pole. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Piper said in his ear. “You were up all night.” Leo wanted to protest, but the word sleep sounded really good. “You won’t let me fall off?” Piper patted his shoulder. “Trust me, Valdez. Beautiful people never lie.” “Right,” he muttered. He leaned forward against the warm bronze of the dragon’s neck, and closed his eyes.
Rick Riordan (The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus, #1))
I’m no hero.” “You are to the Lessers. You are to the people who still fight for us.” “I am no hero.” Tsiora made her voice hard. “Then be a weapon.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
To achieve greater results we must outlay greater efforts
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
The world knows no emotion to match a dragon’s grief Save perhaps a dragon’s rage
Peter A. Flannery (Battle Mage)
Neil studied his face, looking for a hint of the earlier fathomless anger and finding nothing. Despite Andrew's unfriendly words, his expression and tone were calm. He said these things like they meant nothing to him. Neil didn't know if it was a mask or the truth. Was Andrew hiding that rage from Neil or from himself? Maybe the monster was buried where neither of them could find it until Neil crossed another unforgivable line. "Good," Neil said at length. Tugging a sleeping dragon's tail sounded like a good way to die a painful death, but Neil would be dead before Andrew's protection wore off. "I want to see you lose control." Andrew went still with his hand halfway to the vodka. "Last year you wanted to live. Now you seem hell-bent on getting killed. If I felt like playing another round with you right now, I would ask why you've had a change of heart. As it stands, I've had enough of your stupidity to last me a week. Go back inside and bother the others now." Neil feigned confusion as he got to his feet. "Am I bothering you?" "Beyond the telling." "Interesting," Neil said. "Last week you said nothing gets under your skin.
Nora Sakavic (The King's Men (All for the Game, #3))
moon, they’d be fighting in the dark. “It’s late,” said Oyibo, avoiding Tau’s eyes. Tau had conscripted his help after Yaw stopped showing up. “One,” Tau said. “Only one more.” “It’s just… it’s just you keep saying that…
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
We didn’t have words. We didn’t have writing or maps or language, but we had music and in that music, we spoke victory and loss, sadness and rage. We sang fire and water, earth and sky. We wrote the history of the Battle of Lamos and told the story of Selisanae of the Sun and wove the tragedy of the lives and deaths of dragons in every land. It was marvellous.
H. Leighton Dickson (Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon (The Dragons of Solunas #1))
Manticor in Arabia (The manticors of the montaines Mighte feed them on thy braines.--Skelton.) Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring height To dip heads, to cool fiery blood In oozy depths of sucking mud. Sing then of ringstraked manticor, Man-visaged tiger who of yore Held whole Arabian waste in fee With raging pride from sea to sea, That every lesser tribe would fly Those armed feet, that hooded eye; Till preying on himself at last Manticor dwindled, sank, was passed By gryphon flocks he did disdain. Ay, wyverns and rude dragons reign In ancient keep of manticor Agreed old foe can rise no more. Only here from lakes of slime Drinks manticor and bides due time: Six times Fowl Phoenix in yon tree Must mount his pyre and burn and be Renewed again, till in such hour As seventh Phoenix flames to power And lifts young feathers, overnice From scented pool of steamy spice Shall manticor his sway restore And rule Arabian plains once more.
Robert Graves
It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile or dragon. People normally seem to be hiding this true nature, but an occasion will arise (as when an ox sedately ensconced in a grassy meadow suddenly lashes out with its tail to kill the horsefly on its flank) when anger makes them reveal in a flash human nature in all its horror. Seeing this happen has always induced in me a fear great enough to make my hair stand on end, and at the thought that this nature might be one of the prerequisites for survival as a human being, I have come close to despairing of myself.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
He set his whisky tumbler on the table, but kept his fingers around it. "What do you see in my eyes?"... "Tell me, lass," he urged softly. She suddenly understood the term 'old soul,' because one sat before her now. And, as if opening a book, she caught a glimpse of Asher. The words then tumbled out of her mouth. "Endlessness. Sorrow. Agony. Distress. Rage.
Donna Grant (Dragon Fever (Dark Kings #9.5; Dark World #26.5))
Lekan was self-impressed, condescending, and the single best argument against making firstborns heir to anything.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
Do you bleed?
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
You think your kudliwe can beat me?" He laughed. "Give him three swords, I'll kill him just the same.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
I will take you home, his lord had said. Home. He held to that word, as a man holds to a rope in a raging sea.
Elizabeth A. Lynn (Dragon's Winter)
I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile or dragon.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
He told himself he could stop when he could no longer make the next step. He also told himself he could always make at least the next step.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
Jayyed sighed. “Then you’ll stand in a world of char and ash.” “But I’ll stand.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
I thought I was writing a story about rage. I wasn’t. There is certainly rage in this novel, but it is about more than that. In its heart, this is a story about memory, and trauma. It’s about the damage we do to ourselves and our community when we refuse to talk about the past. It’s about the memories that we don’t understand, and can’t put into context, until we learn more about the world. And I thought I was writing about a bunch of fire-breathing, powerful women. And while those women certainly are in this book, it isn’t about them. It’s about a world upended by trauma and shamed into silence. And that silence grows, and becomes toxic, and infects every aspect of life. Perhaps this sounds familiar to you now—times being what they are.
Kelly Barnhill (When Women Were Dragons)
Before she could move or even think, the male shifted to his human form. Bran stood there, all six feet four inches of sexy, pissed off male. His expression was one of pure rage as he stepped toward her. Not that this stopped her from checking out every single naked inch of him. And the man was built. All those hard lines and striations looked as if he'd been carved from marble.
Katie Reus (Beyond the Darkness (Darkness, #3))
My world burns severe. Pockets of sweltering air attack every inch of me exposed, heated by fire spewed forth from the lungs of dragons. For defense I raise a glowing sword that shines by virtue of powers contrary to those I fight against. It is a battle that rages on and on for as long as any man can endure. But there are days I feel I cannot―drained and weary unlike these monsters that lash at me as if sustained by an abiding fervor in their bellies. The battle is harsh and my weapons heavy. You alone give me hope. And for that reason only I raise my sword and prepare to push the demons back once again.
Richelle E. Goodrich (Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, and Grumblings for Every Day of the Year)
They have special laws for pretty girls twenty-one." "So you think I was pretty?" He nodded good-humoredly. "But how can you tell?" she asked. "When you meet a dragon that has eaten a swan, do you guess by the few feathers left around the mouth? That's what it is- a body like this is a dragon, all scales and folds. So the dragon ate the white swan. I haven't seen her for years. I can't even remember what she looks like. I feel her, though. She's safe inside, still alive; the essential swan hasn't changed a feather. Do you know, there are some mornings in spring or fall, when I wake and think, I'll run across the fields into the woods and pick wild strawberries! Or I'll swim in the lake, or I'll dance all night tonight until dawn! And then, in a rage, discover I'm in this old and ruined dragon. I'm the princess in the crumbled tower, no way out, waiting for her Prince Charming.
Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine)
It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile or dragon.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile, or dragon.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal in its true colours, one more horrible than any lion, crocodile or dragon.
Osamu Dazai (No Longer Human)
I would never want to be man. That cock hanging between your legs all day. You have no control of emotions. If we leave you to yourselves, you destroy without thought; rage without reason; and attempt to fuck anything that wants you to leave them be.
G.A. Aiken (Light My Fire (Dragon Kin, #7))
The wars you’ll wage aren’t decided when you fight them. They’re decided before that by the extent of your efforts and the substance of your sacrifices. They’re decided by the choices you make every single day. So ask yourself: How powerful do I choose to be?
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
As realization sunk in, Asha screamed her rage - at Elorma, at the Old One, and at the bloodred moon waning above her. And when she was done screaming, the shadow dragon remained. Head tilted. Eyes fixed on her. As if to say: Where are you going? Can I come too?
Kristen Ciccarelli (The Last Namsara (Iskari, #1))
I thought I was writing a story about rage. I wasn’t. There is certainly rage in this novel, but it is about more than that. In its heart, this is a story about memory, and trauma. It’s about the damage we do to ourselves and our community when we refuse to talk about the past.
Kelly Barnhill (When Women Were Dragons)
Thieves! Fire! Murder! Such a thing had not happened since he first came to the Mountain! His rage passed description - the sort of rage that is only seen when rich folk that have more than they can enjoy suddenly lose something that they have long had but have never before used or wanted.
J.R.R. Tolkien (The Hobbit (The Lord of the Rings, #0))
Think about all that the wind is and all that it does. Where it goes. Where it comes from. The wind knows everything, for it travels everywhere, and it’s with us always. It endures. It feels. It speaks. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it rages. Give it a listen sometime. See what it tells you.
M.L. Spencer (Dragon Mage (Rivenworld, #1))
every fight was a rush. It was the purity of it, the honesty. When Tau sparred, it was just him and his opponent. All that mattered was experience, skill, determination, and will. The rest of the world slipped away, leaving only the next move, the next counter, the next attack, the next victory.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
Could he do it? Could he bury a blade in a man when his back was turned? Yes, he decided, I could. The gods killed, did they not? Hadn’t Lawl himself murdered thousands of men in fits of jealous rage? That said, Lawl had slept with Toil, his own daughter, and then Toil had married Coos, the child, so perhaps the gods didn’t always set the best example…
Jon Hollins (Fool's Gold (The Dragon Lords, #1))
(WATER) THE BOOK OF LEVIATHAN THE RAGING SEA ... The invocations which follow are designed to serve as proclamations of certainty, not whining apprehension. For this reason they are devoid of shallow offerings-up and hollow charities. Leviathan, the great Dragon from the Watery Abyss, roars forth as the surging sea, and these invocations are his tribunals.
Anton Szandor LaVey (The Satanic Bible)
The wind whipped about in a frenzy, and Solan saw Melly stiffen as she tilted her head. A minute later, she gasped and arched her back, and he had to struggle to both stay on his feet and hold onto her. The wind built into a raging inferno that pushed everything in the camp back so that when it finally stopped, the ground was cleared three feet in every direction. Aarion, Lux, and most of their camp had been pushed back haphazardly to the trees. The Lady Melisande was out cold. Lux and Aarion moved forward from where they had flown, both wiping leaves and debris from their leathers. Lux shook his head at the fragile-seeming mage in his commander’s arms. “It’s good that she has a dragon mate to watch out for her. I don’t think a human male could handle the stress.
Kelly Lucille (Web of Bones (Dragon Mage, #2))
With bare feet in the dirt, fulmia, ten times with conviction, will shake the earth to its roots, if you have the strength, Jaga’s book had told me, and the Dragon had believed it enough not to let me try it anywhere near the tower. I had felt doubtful, anyway, about conviction: I hadn’t believed I had any business shaking the earth to its roots. But now I fell to the ground and dug away the snow and the fallen leaves and rot and moss until I came to the hard-frozen dirt. I pried up a large stone and began to smash at the earth, again and again, breaking up the dirt and breathing on it to make it softer, pounding in the snow that melted around my hands, pounding in the hot tears that dripped from my eyes as I worked. Kasia was above me with her head flung up, her mouth open in its soundless cry like a statue in a church. “Fulmia,” I said, my fingers deep in the dirt, crushing the solid clods between my fingers. “Fulmia, fulmia,” I chanted over and over, bleeding from broken nails, and I felt the earth hear me, uneasily. Even the earth was tainted here, poisoned, but I spat on the dirt and screamed, “Fulmia,” and imagined my magic running into the ground like water, finding cracks and weaknesses, spreading out beneath my hands, beneath my cold wet knees: and the earth shuddered and turned over. A low trembling began where my hands drove into the ground, and it followed me as I started prying at the roots of the tree. The frozen dirt began to break up into small chunks all around them, the tremors going on and on like waves. The branches above me were waving wildly as if in alarm, the whispering of the leaves becoming a muted roaring. I straightened up on my knees. “Let her out!” I screamed at the tree: I beat on its trunk with my muddy fists. “Let her out, or I’ll bring you down! Fulmia!” I cried out in rage, and threw myself back down at the ground, and where my fists hit, the ground rose and swelled like a river rising with the rain. Magic was pouring out of me, a torrent: every warning the Dragon had ever given me forgotten and ignored. I would have spent every drop of myself and died there, just to bring that horrible tree down: I couldn’t imagine a world where I lived, where I left this behind me, Kasia’s life and heart feeding this corrupt monstrous thing. I would rather have died, crushed in my own earthquake, and brought it down with me. I tore at the ground ready to break open a pit to swallow us all.
Naomi Novik (Uprooted)
Tau let his thoughts fade, focusing on the run. He was tired, injured, and would have loved nothing more than to stop. He refused to do it though. He told himself he could stop when he could no longer make the next step. He also told himself he could always make the next step. He counted them that way, in ones. One step, one step, one step. It kept him going, to think of the task in its smallest pieces. One step, one step.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
Hollin was still sitting with Levitas’s head in his lap, a bucket now beside him; he was squeezing water from a clean cloth into the dragon’s open mouth. He looked at Rankin without bothering to hide his contempt, but then he bent over and said, “Levitas, come along now; look who’s come.” Levitas’s eyes opened, but they were milky and blind. “My captain?” he said uncertainly. Laurence thrust Rankin forward and down onto his knees, none too gently; Rankin gasped and clutched at his thigh, but he said, “Yes, I am here.” He looked up at Laurence and swallowed, then added awkwardly, “You have been very brave.” There was nothing natural or sincere in the tone; it was as ungraceful as could be imagined. But Levitas only said, very softly, “You came.” He licked at a few drops of water at the corner of his mouth. The blood was still welling sluggishly from beneath the dressing, thick enough to slightly part the bandages one from the other, glistening and black. Rankin shifted uneasily; his breeches and stockings were being soaked through, but he looked up at Laurence and did not try to move away. Levitas gave a low sigh, and then the shallow movement of his sides ceased. Hollin closed his eyes with one rough hand. Laurence’s hand was still heavy on the back of Rankin’s neck; now he lifted it away, rage gone, and only tight-lipped disgust left. “Go,” he said. “We who valued him will make the arrangements, not you.” He did not even look at the man as Rankin left the clearing.
Naomi Novik (His Majesty's Dragon (Temeraire, #1))
Brastias, general of the Dark Plains rebellion and Annwyl’s second in command, leaned back into the hard wood chair and rubbed his tired eyes. She must be dead. She had to be dead. Annwyl would never disappear this long without word sent. He’d already sent trackers out to find her, but they came back empty-handed, losing her trail somewhere near Dark Glen, a haunted place most men dare not enter. Of course, Annwyl was not most men. She often dared where others fled. She remained the bravest warrior Brastias knew and he’d met many men over the years who he considered brave. But Annwyl could be foolhardy and her anger . . . formidable. And yet every day for two years Brastias thanked the gods for his good fortune. On a whim they had attacked a heavily armed caravan coming from Garbhán Isle. Its cargo had been Annwyl. Dressed in white bridal clothes and chained to the horse she rode, her destiny to be the unwilling bride for some noble in Madron. And based on how heavily armed her procession was, dangerously unhappy about it as well. Once the attack began, one of his men released Annwyl and told her to escape. She didn’t. Instead she took up a sword and fought. Fought, in fact, like a demon sent from the gods of hate and revenge. Her rage a mighty sight to behold. By the time the girl finished, she stood among the headless remains of those she killed. Her white gown completely covered in blood. On that day the men had given her the name Annwyl the Bloody and, as much as she hated it, the name stuck.
G.A. Aiken (Dragon Actually (Dragon Kin, #1))
I reach out and trace the dragon relic on his back, my fingers lingering on the raised silver scars, and he stiffens. They're all short, thin lines, too precise to be a whip, no rhyme or reason to their pattern but never intersecting. 'What happened?' I whisper, holding my breath. 'You really don't want to know.' He's tense, but doesn't move away from my touch. 'I do.' They don't look accidental. Someone hurt him deliberately maliciously, and it makes me want to hunt the person down and do the same to them. His jaw flexes as he looks over his shoulder, and his eyes meet mine. I bite my lip, knowing this moment can go either way. He can shut me out like always or he can actually let me in. 'There's a lot of them,' I murmur, dragging my fingers down his spine. 'A hundred and seven.' He looks away. The number makes my stomach lurch, and then my hand pauses. A hundred and seven. That's the number Liam mentioned. 'That's how many kids under the age of majority carry the rebellion relic.' 'Yeah.' I shift so I can see his face. 'What happened, Xaden?' He brushes my hair back, and the look that passes is over his face is so close to tender that it makes my heart stutter. 'I saw the opportunity to make a deal,' he says softly. 'And I took it.' 'What kind of deal leaves you with scars like that?' Conflict rages in his eyes, but then he sighs. 'The kind where I take personal responsibility for the loyalty of the hundred and seven kids the rebellion's leaders left behind, and in return, we're allowed to fight for our lives in the Riders Quadrant instead of being put to death like our parents.' He averts his gaze. 'I chose the chance of death over the certainty.' The cruelty of the offer and the sacrifice he made to save the others hits like a physical blow. I cradle his cheek and guide his face back to mine. 'So if any of them betray Navarre...' I lift my brows. 'Then my life is forfeit. The scars are a reminder.' It's why Liam says he owes him everything. 'I'm so sorry that happened to you.' Especially when he wasn't the one who led the rebellion. He looks at me like he sees into the very depths of who I am. 'You have nothing to apologise for.
Rebecca Yarros (Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1))
Imagine it—hearing your father, the very person you depend upon for your survival, wishing you dead. How terrifying that must be for a child, how traumatizing—how your sense of self-worth would implode, and the pain would be too great, too huge to feel, so you’d swallow it, repress it, bury it. Over time you would lose contact with the origins of your trauma, dissociate the roots of its cause, and forget. But one day, all the hurt and anger would burst forth, like fire from a dragon’s belly—and you’d pick up a gun. You’d visit that rage not upon your father, who was dead and forgotten and out of reach—but upon your husband, the man who had taken his place in your life, who loved you and shared your bed. You’d shoot him five times in the head, without possibly even knowing why.
Alex Michaelides (The Silent Patient)
the emotional effects of psychological wounds on children, and how they manifest themselves later in adults. Imagine it—hearing your father, the very person you depend upon for your survival, wishing you dead. How terrifying that must be for a child, how traumatizing—how your sense of self-worth would implode, and the pain would be too great, too huge to feel, so you’d swallow it, repress it, bury it. Over time you would lose contact with the origins of your trauma, dissociate the roots of its cause, and forget. But one day, all the hurt and anger would burst forth, like fire from a dragon’s belly—and you’d pick up a gun. You’d visit that rage not upon your father, who was dead and forgotten and out of reach—but upon your husband, the man who had taken his place in your life, who loved you and shared your bed. You’d shoot him five times in the head, without possibly even knowing why.
Alex Michaelides (The Silent Patient)
All of us have Dragons from the Past influencing our present feelings and actions.”[1] Unless you recognize and tame them, and consciously calm and protect your amygdala from overfiring, these dragons will haunt your unconscious mind and drive emotional pain for the rest of your life. What blows from an ember, or a small action of another, can turn into a destructive fire of anxiety and rage. After learning from Dr. May, I started using this concept with my patients, including Jimmy. Over time I identified 13 Dragons from the Past, including their origins, triggers that make them overpowering, and how they cause us to react. All of us have more than one Dragon from the Past driving our behavior, and they are always interacting with the Dragons from the Past of others, causing both internal and external battles—a modern-day Game of Thrones. All of us have primary and secondary dragons driving our behavior. Primary ones are present most of the time, while secondary ones come out during times of stress, such as the COVID-19 pandemic that began in 2020. You’ll learn which ones apply to you. (You can also take the Hidden Dragons quiz at KnowYourDragons.com.)
Daniel G. Amen (Your Brain Is Always Listening: Tame the Hidden Dragons That Control Your Happiness, Habits, and Hang-Ups)
The bonds of family can be wonderful but there is a time to know when to stand apart." She held out a hand to Rycca on the nearby bench. "Besides, we are your family now, all of us, and we know your worth." Deeply touched, Rycca had to blink several times before she could respond. She knew both women spoke pure truth and loved them for it.After a lifetime of emotional solitude unbroken but for Thurlow, it was still difficult for her to comprehend that she was no longer alone. Yet was she beginning to understand it. Softly,she said, "I worry over Dragon. He refuses to talk of my father or of what will happen now that we are here, but I fear he is planning to take matters into his own hands." Cymbra and Krysta exchanged a glance. Quietly,Cymbra said, "Your instinct is not wrong. Dragon simmers with rage at the harm attempted to you. In Landsende I caught a mere glimpse of it,and it was like peering into one of those mountains that belch fire." Despite the heat of the sauna, Rycca shivered. "He came close to losing his life once because of me.I cannot bear for it to happen again." There was silence for a moment,broken only by the crackling of the fire and the hiss of steam.Finally, Cymbra said, "We are each of us married to an extraordinary man. There is something about them...even now I don't really know how to explain it." She looked at Krysta. "Have you told Rycca about Thorgold and Raven?" Krysta shook her head. "There was no time before." She turned on her side on the bench,facing the other two. "Thorgold and Raven are my...friends. They are somewhat unusual." Cymbra laughed at that,prompting a chiding look from Krysta,who went on to say, "I'm not sure how but I think somehow I called them to me when I was a child and needed them very much." "Krysta has the gift of calling," Cymbra said, "as I do of feeling and you do of truthsaying. Doesn't it strike you as odd that three very unusual women, all bearing special gifts, ccame to be married to three extraordinary men who are united by a common purpose,to bring peace to their peoples?" "I had not really thought about it," said Rycca, who also had not known of Krysta's gift and was looking at her with some surprise. All three of them? That was odd. "I believe," said Cymbra, who clearly had been thinking about it, "that there is a reason for it beyond mere coincidence. I think we are meant to be at their sides, to help them as best we can, the better to transform peace from dream to reality." "It is a good thought," Krysta said. Rycca nodded. Very quietly, she said, "Blessed are the peacemakers." Cymbra grinned. "And poor things, we appear to be their blessings. So worry not for Dragon, Rycca. He will prevail. We will all see to it." They laughed then,the trio of them, ancient and feminine laughter hidden in a chamber held in the palm of the earth. The steam rose around them, half obscuringm half revealing them. In time,when the heat had become too intense,they rose, wrapped themselves in billowing cloths,and ran through the gathering darkness to the river, where they frolicked in cool water and laughed again beneath the stars. The torches had been lit by the time they returned to the stronghold high on the hill. They dressed and hastened to the hall,where they greeted their husbands, who stood as one when they entered,silent and watchful men before beauty and strength, and took their seats at table. Wine was poured, food brought,music played. They lingered over the evening,taking it into night. The moon was high when they found the sweet,languid sanctuary of their beds. Day came too swiftly.
Josie Litton (Come Back to Me (Viking & Saxon, #3))
She might have been brained right then but Ash managed to cup one hand behind her head to cushion the impact His other hand had a fistful of the back of her jeans, holding the waist so she didn't slide down him. She had both legs wrapped tight around his middle, her hand clutching his shoulders. Time slowed. The noise of the crowd disappeared. Ash was pressed hard into her, crushing her against the post, his body hot against her front. His bare chest rose and fell as he breathed deep. His hand formed a fist in her hair and pulled her head back until their eyes met in a stare that cut right through her. His irises weren't quite black but close. His strength was all around her, holding her, pinning he helplessly. She met his stare her teeth bared fiercely. Then she grabbed his head and yanked his mouth down onto hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Ash's mouth met hers and it was like a flame meeting oil- fire and raging heat. She arched into him as he shoved her into the post, pressing them even tighter together. His mouth moved with hers, against hers, fierce and carnal and demanding. She clamped her fingers over the back of his head and pulled him closer still, demanding even more. His hand tightened in her hair and she tilted her head farther back as their kiss deepened into something even wilder. Seconds later - minutes later? Ash pulled back with one last nipping bite to her bottom lip that made heat plunge through her middle. They held there, faces inches apart, both panting for air. Piper wasn't sure she could have unlocked her legs from around him even if she'd wanted to. Which she didn't. She'd never had her legs around such perfect abs in her life. That's when, belatedly, she noticed the crowd's reaction. They were all on their feet and the noise level was deafening. They were screaming and cheering. So swiftly Piper squeaked in surprise, Ash pulled her off the post. The next thing she knew, he'd flipped her over his shoulder in a fireman carry. The air whooshed out of her. Ash turned and lifted one hand in a gesture of triumph, his other arm clamped over the back of her thighs to keep her in place. "Well," the announcer called jubilantly, "It seems the Dragon has claimed his prize!
Annette Marie (Chase the Dark (Steel & Stone, #1))
Fuck, she was even hotter when she was furious. I seriously wouldn't have minded her taking that anger out on my body all night long. I'd be more than happy to angry fuck her until her body bent and bowed and finally gave in to the power play between us. I'd force her beneath me physically as well as with my power and maybe she'd find she liked it there just fine. Or maybe she'd stab me to death and cut my cock off for good measure because the look she was aiming my way said that was a whole lot more likely than me getting to spend the night ruining her. But it was a damn nice fantasy to indulge in for a few moments. ... She gave me a look of utter contempt and it made my cock throb as her nearness just compounded the desire I was already feeling for her and made me get all kinds of insane ideas about what I'd like to do with this little princess if I got her to myself for long enough. She made no attempt to cover herself, no sign of shame in her frosty features as she stalked forward to claim her key, a sneer touching those edible lips of hers. Her jaw was tight with rage which she was doing nothing to hide and as she reached out to snatch the key from my hand, I couldn't help but ache to bring her closer, draw her nearer, see just how far she'd go in this denial of my power over her. Her fingers curled around the brass key, but I didn't release it, instead using my hold on it to tug her a step closer so that only a breath of space divided our bodies. I looked down at her from my imposing height, dominating her space with the bulk of my body and making sure she took in every last inch of height I had over her. “Of course, if you’d rather just come on up to my room, I can give you a real welcome to the House of Fire,” I suggested my gaze dropping down to her body, the noticeable bulge in my pants making it clear enough how much I meant that offer. I probably shouldn't have been making it at all, but the beast in me couldn't help myself. Dragons saw something they wanted and they took it. And I hadn't seen something I wanted as much as this girl in as long as I could remember. Our gazes collided and the heat there was almost strong enough to burn, the tension between us crackling so loudly I was surprised the whole room couldn't hear it. But then her gaze shuttered and her lips pursed, her eyes dropping down to take me in, my skin buzzing everywhere they landed as I could feel the want in her while she assessed me. But as those deep green eyes met mine again and I gave her a knowing smirk, I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I didn't know if she was going to bow to this heat between us or just stoke the flames, and the fact that I didn't know had my heart thumping in anticipation deep in my chest. She shifted an inch closer to me, tilting her mouth towards my ear and making my flesh spark with the need to take her, own her, destroy her in all the best ways. But just as my cock began to get overexcited at the prospect of all the ways I could make her scream for me given enough time, she spoke and it wasn't in the sultry purr I'd been expecting, her voice coming out loud enough for everyone to hear instead. “I wouldn’t come near you even if someone held a knife to my heart and told me that the world would end if I didn’t,” she snarled, snatching the key out of my hand as my surprise at her words made me forget to keep my grip tight enough to keep it. “So why don’t you take a long, hard look while you can. Because I can promise you, you won’t be seeing this again.”(Darius POV)
Caroline Peckham (The Awakening as Told by the Boys (Zodiac Academy, #1.5))
The lust of property, and love: what different associations each of these ideas evoke! and yet it might be the same impulse twice named: on the one occasion disparaged from the standpoint of those already possessing (in whom the impulse has attained something of repose, who are now apprehensive for the safety of their "possession"); on the other occasion viewed from the standpoint of the unsatisfied and thirsty, and therefore glorified as "good." Our love of our neighbor, is it not a striving after new property? And similarly our love of knowledge, of truth; and in general all the striving after novelties? We gradually become satiated with the old and securely possessed, and again stretch out our hands; even the finest landscape in which we live for three months is no longer certain of our love, and any kind of more distant coast excites our covetousness: the possession for the most part becomes smaller through possessing. Our pleasure in ourselves seeks to maintain itself by always transforming something new into ourselves, that is just possessing. To become satiated with a possession, that is to become satiated with ourselves. (One can also suffer from excess, even the desire to cast away, to share out, may assume the honorable name of "love.") When we see any one suffering, we willingly utilize the opportunity then afforded to take possession of him; the beneficent and sympathetic man, for example, does this; he also calls the desire for new possession awakened in him, by the name of "love," and has enjoyment in it, as in a new acquisition suggesting itself to him. The love of the sexes, however, betrays itself most plainly as the striving after possession: the lover wants the unconditioned, sole possession of the person longed for by him; he wants just as absolute power over her soul as over the body; he wants to be loved solely, and to dwell and rule in the other soul as what is highest and most to be desired. When one considers that this means precisely to exclude all the world from a precious possession, a happiness, and an enjoyment; when one considers that the lover has in view the impoverishment and privation of all other rivals, and would like to become the dragon of his golden hoard, as the most inconsiderate and selfish of all "conquerors "and exploiters; when one considers finally that to the lover himself, the whole world besides appears indifferent, colorless, and worthless, and that he is ready to make every sacrifice, disturb every arrangement, and put every other interest behind his own, one is verily surprised that this ferocious lust of property and injustice of sexual love should have been glorified and deified to such an extent at all times; yea, that out of this love the conception of love as the antithesis of egoism should have been derived, when it is perhaps precisely the most unqualified expression of egoism. Here, evidently, the non-possessors and desirers have determined the usage of language, there were, of course, always too many of them. Those who have been favored with much possession and satiety, have, to be sure, dropped a word now and then about the "raging demon," as, for instance, the most lovable and most beloved of all the Athenians Sophocles; but Eros always laughed at such revilers, they were always his greatest favorites. There is, of course, here and there on this terrestrial sphere a kind of sequel to love, in which that covetous longing of two persons for one another has yielded to a new desire and covetousness, to a common, higher thirst for a superior ideal standing above them: but who knows this love? Who has experienced it? Its right name — friendship.
Friedrich Nietzsche (The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs)
JULIETTE.—Oh! manque, mon coeur! Pauvre banqueroutier, manque pour toujours; emprisonnez-vous, mes yeux; ne jetez plus un seul regard sur la liberté. Terre vile, rends-toi à la terre; que tout mouvement s’arrête, et qu’une même bière presse de son poids et Roméo et toi. LA NOURRICE.—O Tybalt, Tybalt! le meilleur ami que j’eusse! O aimable Tybalt, honnête cavalier, faut-il que j’aie vécu pour te voir mort! JULIETTE.—Quelle est donc cette tempête qui souffle ainsi dans les deux sens contraires? Roméo est-il tué, et Tybalt est-il mort? Mon cousin chéri et mon époux plus cher encore? Que la terrible trompette sonne donc le jugement universel. Qui donc est encore en vie, si ces deux-là sont morts? LA NOURRICE.—Tybalt est mort, et Roméo est banni: Roméo, qui l’a tué, est banni. JULIETTE.—O Dieu! la main de Roméo a-t-elle versé le sang de Tybalt? LA NOURRICE.—Il l’a fait, il l’a fait! O jour de malheur! il l’a fait! JULIETTE.—O coeur de serpent caché sous un visage semblable à une fleur! jamais dragon a-t-il choisi un si charmant repaire? Beau tyran, angélique démon, corbeau couvert des plumes d’une colombe, agneau transporté de la rage du loup, méprisable substance de la plus divine apparence, toi, justement le contraire de ce que tu paraissais à juste titre, damnable saint, traître plein d’honneur! O nature, qu’allais-tu donc chercher en enfer, lorsque de ce corps charmant, paradis sur la terre, tu fis le berceau de l’âme d’un démon? Jamais livre contenant une aussi infâme histoire porta-t-il une si belle couverture? et se peut-il que la trahison habite un si brillant palais? LA NOURRICE.—Il n’y a plus ni sincérité, ni foi, ni honneur dans les hommes; tous sont parjures, corrompus, hypocrites. Ah! où est mon valet? Donnez-moi un peu d’aqua vitæ….. Tous ces chagrins, tous ces maux, toutes ces peines me vieillissent. Honte soit à Roméo! JULIETTE.—Maudite soit ta langue pour un pareil souhait! Il n’est pas né pour la honte: la honte rougirait de s’asseoir sur son front; c’est un trône où on peut couronner l’honneur, unique souverain de la terre entière. Oh! quelle brutalité me l’a fait maltraiter ainsi? LA NOURRICE.—Quoi! vous direz du bien de celui qui a tué votre cousin? JULIETTE.—Eh! dirai-je du mal de celui qui est mon mari? Ah! mon pauvre époux, quelle langue soignera ton nom, lorsque moi, ta femme depuis trois heures, je l’ai ainsi déchiré? Mais pourquoi, traître, as-tu tué mon cousin? Ah! ce traître de cousin a voulu tuer mon époux.—Rentrez, larmes insensées, rentrez dans votre source; c’est au malheur qu’appartient ce tribut que par méprise vous offrez à la joie. Mon époux vit, lui que Tybalt aurait voulu tuer; et Tybalt est mort, lui qui aurait voulu tuer mon époux. Tout ceci est consolant, pourquoi donc pleuré-je? Ah! c’est qu’il y a là un mot, plus fatal que la mort de Tybalt, qui m’a assassinée.—Je voudrais bien l’oublier; mais, ô ciel! il pèse sur ma mémoire comme une offense digne de la damnation sur l’âme du pécheur. Tybalt est mort, et Roméo est….. banni! Ce banni, ce seul mot banni, a tué pour moi dix mille Tybalt. La mort de Tybalt était un assez grand malheur, tout eût-il fini là; ou si les cruelles douleurs se plaisent à marcher ensemble, et qu’il faille nécessairement que d’autres peines les accompagnent, pourquoi, après m’avoir dit: «Tybalt est mort,» n’a-t-elle pas continué: «ton père aussi, ou ta mère, ou tous les deux?» cela eût excité en moi les douleurs ordinaires. Mais par cette arrière-garde qui a suivi la mort de Tybalt, Roméo est banni; par ce seul mot, père, mère, Tybalt, Roméo, Juliette, tous sont assassinés, tous morts. Roméo banni! Il n’y a ni fin, ni terme, ni borne, ni mesure dans la mort qu’apporte avec lui ce mot, aucune parole ne peut sonder ce malheur.
William Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet)
Kiril glanced around the darkened room. He walked to a leather chair and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. “Did you know that during the Fae Wars the Dark took two Dragon Kings? At different times, of course.” “I suppose they escaped as well? Are you telling me we don’t know how to hold a Dragon King?” “The Dark did . . . things to my brethren. One completely lost his mind and attacked us, which is what the Dark wanted. He had to be killed. The other King knew what was happening to him, but he couldna stop it. He came to us and begged to be killed before he could harm one of us.” Shara sipped her whisky before she said, “You lost two Kings and I lost seven siblings.” “And the Light the Dark took?” “The Dark take the Light and the Light take the Dark.” Kiril let his gaze drift down her body. How he itched to have her long legs wrapped around him. Things would be so much easier if he didn’t desire her as he did, but there wasn’t a switch he could flip and turn off his body’s reaction. The more he tried to ignore the growing desire, the more it raged uncontrollably within him. He gave himself a mental shake and returned to their conversation. “What’s the plan, then? Will the Dark storm in here and try to capture me?” Shara walked around the room, her hand skimming along the backs of the chairs. “No.” “No?” Kiril set aside his glass on the table next to him and silently rose to his feet. He followed her as if a string tied them together. “What then?” “You don’t really want to know.” Kiril spun her around so hard that her glass flew from her hand and landed upon a rug, spilling the whisky but not breaking the crystal. “Tell me,” he demanded in a soft, deadly voice. “My job is to seduce you.” She held her stance for a heartbeat before she retreated, taking two steps back. He tracked her until she was once more in the entryway. The shadows darkened everything, and yet the smallest sliver of moonlight found her, illuminating her in a pale blue glow. No longer could he deny what he wanted. Perhaps it was her confession. Maybe it was because he hadn’t taken to the skies in weeks. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he had to have her or go up in flames. “Then seduce me.
Donna Grant (Burning Desire (Dark Kings, #3))
We have to give her time to get to know us. She is human. We can’t just come out and say, hey, we are royalty dragon shifters and you are our mate. We want to make mad, passionate love to you, fill your belly with child, and take you home to a faraway land you’ve never heard of.” Adrian tried soothing the beast raging within him. “Well, I’d leave out the royalty part if I were you.
And she wonders why I spend so long at my councils, he thought. I’m surrounded with raging commoners, a bloodthirsty temple, and hostile neighbors … yet sometimes I think my greatest bane is my wife.
Daniel Arenson (Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels)
There is a saying amongst my people that reflects this. Within every heart lives two dragons, a dragon of Hope and a dragon of Hate, both mighty and powerful in equal measure. They war constantly, always struggling for dominance to be the rightful ruler of your heart. You feed them with your actions. All that drives us in life is fuelled by either hope or hate. Hate is the dark mirror of hope, empowering our hearts with the same fire and energy but striving for different ends. Hate drives us to bring those above us to ruin, while hope exalts us to raise ourselves up beyond where we are. We want to better ourselves, or drag down someone else so we are on top. The destruction of the gnomes had taken with it the dragon of our hate, but hope could not flare up to take its place; hope was already dead within us. We were soulless, cast adrift and ready to settle down to wait for death. I remember these times as being some of the hardest of them all, not because of pain, or suffering, or loss…but because I no longer felt anything at all. Both dragons lay dead, and my heart was a barren wasteland cloaked in winter. While this wounded me greatly, it was better than the alternative. I said many things, did many things, that I regret in this time of my life, but I always feel the slightest bit of pride that at that moment, right when I had nothing, I didn’t feed Hate and nurse it back to health. Most manage to find an equilibrium in their hearts between Hate and Hope, controlling the former while encouraging the latter, and for most, this is a happy and content existence. Some find that Hope’s strength overpowers Hate easily, and that they are able to do noble things effortlessly and naturally simply by following their intrinsic sense of righteousness. However, some embrace that hateful dragon within them, that boiling black pit of rage that simmers and bubbles out of sight, ushering them into darkness and wickedness too numerous to count. They embrace this powerful ally and use it to great effect. Sometimes my surface friends wonder why anyone would do this, would willingly plunge themselves into shadow and wrath. Even humans, that most flexible and different of species, almost universally espouse the idea that good is preferable to evil, and that it is better to be noble than to be malicious, even when they do not believe it. Why would anyone listen to that whisper from Hate, the dark voice urging them to abandon Hope and to
Terah Edun (EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy)
Desire blazed, passion raged.
Donna Grant (Hot Blooded: Part 2)
Deputy Ennis Dickhead tipped back his stupid hat and smirked at me. “Hello, Bailey.” “What do you want?” “I came to talk to your friend here. Just wondering if he’d seen his dad?” Nick showed no reaction, but I was pissed to have an asshole ruining my good mood. “If his dad was smart, he’d have run the fuck away once out of jail.” Dickhead tried intimidating Nick with a dark glare. When that didn’t work, he focused on me. “Bailey, I want to talk to you alone.” “No way. Nick and I are going home to have lots of sex. Now go away.” “Why are you slumming it with this loser?” Dickhead asked, poking his thumb at Nick. “You’ve got options and here you are settling.” “Fuck the hell off, asshole!” I yelled, gaining the attention of a lot of people who immediately looked away when I glared at them. Focusing my rage back on Dickhead, I growled, “You need to learn your place, loser. The only time I was slumming it was when I dated a rent-a-cop.” “Listen here, bitch...” I never saw Nick move. One moment, he was a few feet away, looking passive then his fist made contact with Dickhead’s face. The cop toppled back against his car as Nick stood in front of me. Since he looked hotter than sin, I wanted to feel him up. I was thinking naughty thoughts when Darling forced his cuffs on Nick’s wrists and shoved him against the car. “I guess I’m the one who gets restrained this time,” Nick said, trying to keep the moment light. Dickhead was going to ruin Nick’s chances at teaching and I refused to allow anyone to steal my man’s dream. Love made people do weird shit and I was no exception. The Taser from Dickhead’s belt felt good in my hand as I aimed it at his ass. The idiot cop didn’t even realize I’d stolen his weapon until the volts surged through his system. My ex-nobody fell to the ground and twitched. A cuffed Nick stepped back and looked between Dickhead and the Taser. “He wet himself,” I said to Nick. “I see that. Now what? You just assaulted a cop.” “So did you.” “True. We’re both fucked.” “No way,” I muttered. “He attacked me and I was defending myself.” “You shot him in the ass with that thing. I don’t know how you make self-defense stick, babe.” “What a pessimist,” I said, digging the keys out of Dickhead’s pocket. “Let’s throw on some Jerry Reed and race home like the cops are on our asses.” “They might be soon enough,” Nick said, rubbing his wrists before cupping my face. “My hero.
Bijou Hunter (Damaged and the Dragon (Damaged, #5))
down tower structure. “Ugh! What a waste of time!” I started running toward the battle again, but slower this time, due to the slow effect of the fireball. “So annoying!” In the distance, I saw the elder dragon whupping on my friends. I saw it swat one of the nightwings so hard that their cape came off. Then the boss swept the area with its tails as well as shot fireballs at the same time. Some of the troops got knocked off the island by the tails, some got teleported away, some got floated up and then swatted into the abyss. It was just a crazy dangerous situation, and we were losing troops so fast. “Take evasive maneuvers!” I yelled as I ran there. And right as I arrived, the boss dragon teleported again. I shook my head as I breathed heavily. “It’s like he knows to run out my rage timer.” “We need to stop him from teleporting,” said Arceus as he ran up to me. I nodded. “I agree.” “Let’s focus on his wings. I think they are the key to his teleportation powers.” “Got it.” Then Arceus turned to his squad and said, “Lily, Harper, keep both wings marked with Focus Fire.
Steve the Noob (Diary of Steve the Noob 45 (An Unofficial Minecraft Book) (Diary of Steve the Noob Collection))
lads,” I told them when we’d finished. “Sing like that for the Ender Dragon and he’s going to love us.” “Let’s do Watch out, there’s an Endermen about next,” suggested Phil. The upbeat number was one of my favorites and we’d started putting together a snappy dance routine to go with it. Just as we turned to face the back of the stage for the start of the number, we noticed some Minecraftians watching us. I could feel Zach and Phil starting to tremble with rage next to me, but I couldn’t tell them to calm down because I was shaking too much myself.  “Wait!
Diary Wimpy (Minecraft: Diary of a Minecraft Enderman)
The Wood stared back at me out of Kasia’s face: an endless depth of rustling leaves, whispering hatred and longing and rage. But the Dragon paused; my hand had clenched on his. Kasia was there, too. Kasia was there. I could see her, lost and wandering in that dark forest, her hands groping ahead of her, her eyes staring without seeing as she flinched away from branches that slapped in her face, thorns that drank blood from deep scratches on her arms. She didn’t even know she wasn’t in the Wood anymore. She was still trapped, while the Wood tore at her little by little, drinking up her misery. I let go of him and stepped towards her. The working didn’t fail: the Dragon kept on reading, and I kept feeding my magic to the spell. “Kasia,” I called, and cupped my hands before her face. The light of the spell pooled in them: a brilliant sharp terrible white light, hard to bear.
Naomi Novik (Uprooted)
That’s the price. Life is nothing more than moments in time. To achieve greatness, you have to give up those moments. You have to give your life to your goal.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
The days without difficulty are the days you do not improve. The days you do not improve are the days the men behind you close the distance.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
AYA HAD TOLD OF the beginning of the world. She had been as fire in the void, twisting, churning, wanting to form. Over time she had taken shape, and it had hurt. Nemours knew how much, but Mother described it also as a joy. To become. From particles burning and melding she had grown into a great dragon, rough-hewn by the collisions of time. Sharp eyes watching the darkness, fire now her breath. The fire, raging alone, had made clouds, and the clouds made rain. The rain had fallen, sweet, and made a sea. The rain had turned salty with her tears and made more seas. And from that fire and rain and the very dust of stars Father had formed. Or so she liked to say. She described Virso coming together, shaped already like a man. The most beautiful of creatures, with the coldness of the moon on his skin, asleep still in the ether. So enamored was she that she had retreated into her own body and remade herself in his likeness. The dragon had hardened and cracked, and she had emerged from it with long limbs, awkward for a while, and reached for him. The body, empty, had fallen from her and into the sea. Aya had taken Virso by the hand and breathed fire and life into him. Their passion had begun. Beneath them, the gigantic dragon body in the water had petrified and become the world. Or so she liked to tell. It had always been difficult to catch Mother out of a poetic mood. She was magic, and she liked illusion.
Cassia Meare (The Rage of Princes: A Portal Fantasy Adventure (The Chronicles of Otherwhere Book 2))
Your Journey ends here, on this battleground. Tomorrow is nothing more than a formality
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
The wars you'll wage aren't decided when you fight them. They're decided before that by the extent of your efforts and the substance of your sacrifices.
Evan Winter (The Rage of Dragons (The Burning, #1))
The nature of history itself defies us. To know with certainty what the last Dragon Emperor thought or planned or schemed would require not only an understanding of the draconic mind lost to humanity (if indeed it were ever available), but also a comprehension of the particular form of madness which took him in the violent days that ended his reign. Certain facts are known: that Morade’s clutch-mates contested his selection to the throne, that the battle between them raged for three human generations, that their end marked the opening of the ages of humanity. But these are generalities. Vagaries
Daniel Abraham (The King's Blood (The Dagger and the Coin, #2))
I have had my homes razed, raided and burned to the ground, my towers gutted, marauded, and blasted, and my castles pillaged, defiled, and demolished. I have been imprisoned in the Astral Plane, entombed in stone, had my spirit bound within a phylactery, and had my mind trapped within a crystal prism. I have been held for ransom by bandits, robbed by nobility, and dispossessed by extradimensional thieves. I have been threatened, cajoled, berated, cursed (both literally and actually), abused, and blackmailed. I have been stabbed, bludgeoned, whipped, tortured, burned, shocked, flayed, and worse.1 I have been possessed, mind-controlled, robbed of my body and volition, and rendered incorporeal. I have been turned into a newt, transmogrified into a frog, changed into a toad, and transformed into creatures slimier still.2 I have been charmed, bewitched, hexed, ensorcelled, enchanted, mesmerized, spellbound, and let’s not even talk about what happened while I was under the influence of hostile supernatural entities and agents. I have been abandoned by friends, forgotten by allies, scorned by compatriots, and turned upon by companions. I have had intimates taken, comrades killed, family members persecuted, and kith imprisoned. I have fought with incomprehensible daemons face to face, been engulfed by dragons’ raging hellfires, clashed with greater Powers, and been laid low by alien intelligences. I have been trapped within the bowels of forgotten ruins, lost within haunted crypts, striven through extradimensional labyrinths, delved over and through the hearts of uncharted planets, and foundered within the darkest and deepest wilds. I have had my identity erased, my memories taken, my will sapped, and my spirit broken. And these were on some of my better days. I am a wizard.
Joseph J. Bailey (Mulogo's Treatise on Wizardry (Exceptional Advice for Adventurers Everywhere #1))
But, though the Doctor tried hard, and never ceased trying, to get Charles Darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him brought to trial, the public current of the time set too strong and fast for him. The new era began; the king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the Republic of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, declared for victory or death against the world in arms; the black flag waved night and day from the great towers of Notre Dame; three hundred thousand men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, rose from all the varying soils of France, as if the dragon’s teeth had been sown broadcast, and had yielded fruit equally on hill and plain, on rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud, under the bright sky of the South and under the clouds of the North, in fell and forest, in the vineyards and the olive-grounds and among the cropped grass and the stubble of the corn, along the fruitful banks of the broad rivers, and in the sand of the sea-shore. What private solicitude could rear itself against the deluge of the Year One of Liberty—the deluge rising from below, not falling from above, and with the windows of Heaven shut, not opened! There was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. Though days and nights circled as regularly as when time was young, and the evening and morning were the first day, other count of time there was none. Hold of it was lost in the raging fever of a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient. Now, breaking the unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner showed the people the head of the king—and now, it seemed almost in the same breath, the head of his fair wife which had had eight weary months of imprisoned widowhood and misery, to turn it grey. And yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in all such cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. A revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all over the land; a law of the Suspected, which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over any good and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people who had committed no offence, and could obtain no hearing; these things became the established order and nature of appointed things, and seemed to be ancient usage before they were many weeks old. Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze from the foundations of the world—the figure of the sharp female called La Guillotine.
Charles Dickens
I knew an old Illianer woman; once,” she said slowly. “When she was young, her mother arranged a marriage for her with a man she had never even met. They do that down in Illian, sometimes. She said she spent the first five years raging against him, and the next five scheming to make his life miserable without his knowing who was to blame. It was only years later, she said, when he died, that she realized he really had been the love of her life.” “I
Robert Jordan (The Dragon Reborn (The Wheel of Time, #3))
in as a level a tone
Andrew Stanek (Dragon Blood (Dragon Rage, #1))