Rem Love Quotes

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Rem: The way to kill a shinigami is to make them fall in love with a human. Misa: What a wonderful way to kill.
Tsugumi Ohba (Death Note, Vol. 4: Love (Death Note, #4))
Q: Assume everything about your musical tastes was reversed overnight. Everything you once loved, you now hate; everything you once hated, you now love. For example, if your favorite band has always been R.E.M., they will suddenly sound awful to you; they will become the band you dislike the most. By the same token, if you’ve never been remotely interested in the work of Yes and Jethro Tull, those two groups will instantly seem fascinating. If you generally dislike jazz today, you’ll generally like jazz tomorrow. If you currently consider the first album by Veruca Salt to be slightly above average, you will abruptly find it to be slightly below average. Everything will become its opposite, but everything will remain in balance (and the rest of your personality will remain unchanged). So—in all likelihood—you won’t love music any less (or any more) than you do right now. There will still be artists you love and who make you happy; they will merely be all the artists you currently find unlistenable. Now, I concede that this transformation would make you unhappy. But explain why.
Chuck Klosterman (Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas)
We both tumble onto my bed, and he curls himself around me protectively, so I don’t hit the floor. When my head stops spinning, I’m sprawled over his chest as he holds me close. I gasp, trying desperately to push off of him even as one warm hand slides over the small of my back. Rem’eb stares up at me, his gaze fascinated. “Are all of your people so lovely?” he asks, voice husky. “Every time I look at you, it steals the breath from my lungs.
Ruby Dixon (Romancing Rem'eb (Ice Planet Clones #3))
I realize that yes, I’m still resentful of the entire situation. I haven’t forgotten, haven’t forgiven. “I went to Croatoan and lived with strangers, and they were so lovely and kind to me. They didn’t make me feel like I was a problem. Like I was some beach Jezebel.” And yet they still weren’t my people. Everyone at Croatoan was friendly and wonderful, but they had all known each other for so long, had bonds together that I couldn’t possibly understand, and no matter how much they tried to include me, I still felt like the odd one out. I was the only unmated woman, the only unmated person of my age, and the only stranger. No matter how I tried, I still felt like the odd one out. It’s why I returned to Icehome. I wanted to see if it felt more like home than being at Croatoan for four years, or if I’d always feel like the one that didn’t belong. “It was wrong of them to reject you,” Rem’eb tells me fervently. “Any male would be proud to claim you as his mate and have you at his side.
Ruby Dixon (Romancing Rem'eb (Ice Planet Clones #3))
In 1987, he landed a gig as the director of photography on the video for R.E.M.’s song “The One I Love,
Allen Salkin (From Scratch: The Uncensored History of the Food Network)
The universe's most perfect and holy Being came to heal us from our wounds, redeem us from death, and shepherd us into immortality and life eternal That was Christ's testament to our worth(inness), and no force on earth or in hell can impugn a worth so powerfully affirmed," "More commonly, healing begins gradually when we first open ourselves to the possibility that we are already in the embrace of a love greater than any we have known. Even those who doubt can begin by considering the rem arable, yet historical, fact of a young, itinerant Galilean rabbi who two thousand years ago offered himself up to barbaric execution as a criminal. He endured unspeakable pain, because by so doing He was offering, personally, repost from the pains and humiliations and failures and wounds of my life, whether inflicted by others or by my own foolish choices. As the Book of Mormon testified would happen, we have found ourselves "drawn" to this person of unfathomable kindness and compassion.
Fiona Givens (All Things New: Rethinking Sin, Salvation, and Everything in Between)
But things started to wobble around the time R.E.M. put out a truly wretched album called Document, the one that made her reconsider whether she could continue to worship Michael Stipe. I blamed R.E.M. for not saving us by making a better record. That, I realize now, was unfair.
Rob Sheffield (Love is a Mix Tape)
But I fear my senses can't be trusted in this new land." Eleanor sneaked a glance at his harsh and handsome features. No matter how much she wanted to dislike his presumption and his arrogance, she found herself drawn to him. She would have noticed him if he'd been courting Madeline, and quivered over the most careless glance. But with all his attention focused on her in the belief she was Madeline, her mind was blank. She couldn't taste her food. She could only see and smell and crave to taste Mr. Knight. "I'm sure your senses are fine," Eleanor said. Both Mr. Knight and Lady Gertrude turned to look at her. Eleanor stared down at her plate, where the cold, dressed crab waved its claws at her, and she thought that it, too, gawked at her from its beady little peppercorn eyes and wondered at her incredible triteness. Then she thought about what she'd said, and she slumped in her seat. His senses? She had commented on his senses? In a deep, controlled voice, which, she feared, masked his amusement, he said, "I trust your bedchamber is to your liking." He wasn't supposed to be talking about her bedchamber. He was her... Madeline's... betrothed! Those who weren't married didn't mention bedchambers or beds or anything of a personal nature. Yet he was her host. It was proper he should ask. "Yes. It's lovely. It..." Eleanor realized she was being conciliatory when she should be taking a stand. As Madeline had said, Whenever you are in doubt, think, What would Madeline do in this situation? And do it. Straightening up, Eleanor stared forbiddingly at Mr. Knight. "It's in the wrong house, however. I should be in my father's home in Chesterfield Street." He stared back at her, waiting... waiting. The silence stretched out, long and dreadful. As he must have known she would, she began to crumple. "That is, I liked the colors. The chimney draws well. It's clean. It's... it's very clean. I do like it." Eleanor had warned Madeline that she was unable to talk to men. Eleanor had warned Madeline she was timid and easily cowed.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
I don't... we can't..." His white teeth flashed in his tanned face, and he pulled her up against him so that she stood on her toes, so that her balance depended on him. "I can't believe I've managed to wait so long." What did he mean, so long? They'd met only two days ago. Then she saw his expression as he lowered his head to hers, and she realized that for this man, two days of restraint were an eternity. The man saw what he wanted and he went after it- and he wanted her. Her eyes closed as his lips touched hers. Close-mouthed, gentle, seeking. She tried to pretend this wasn't happening. Madeline didn't want him and wouldn't wed him, yet it wasn't right for Eleanor to kiss her cousin's fiancé. But the crackle of hay beneath her feet and the scent of the horses gave this moment an unrelenting reality. The buttons on Mr. Knight's jacket dug into her sternum. His arms handled her with an expertise that bespoke familiarity in handling an unwilling woman, and he kissed... like a beast of sensual powers. His lips were silky soft, skilled in the art of love, giving pleasure with the lightest touch. He barely brushed her lips, yet she found herself lifting her face, seeking his touch like a flower follows the sun.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
You must think I'm... unchaste." He didn't laugh at her, or even look amused. "No, I think you're lonely." "What?" Lonely? "I'm not lonely." She had her duties. She had her relatives. She lived a productive life. "You kiss like a woman who stands on the outside, always peering in the window of life and wishing she were there, yet never having the guts to demand entrance." "That's not true." Curse him, it was exactly true. He paid her no heed. "Those days are over. Whatever you're afraid of, you should be more afraid of me." He didn't have to insist. She was. His brows were lowered, his jaw firm, his eyes flinty. "Listen to me. From now on, you're going to be at my side every minute. No matter what happens, no matter how objectionable the events, no matter how unhappy you make yourself, at the end of the day you're going to go home with me. And at night... I'll show you all the wonders of desire. Our nights will be passionate and grand beyond your wildest dreams, and I'll take you to the edge of passion again and again. You'll squirm beneath me and atop of me, you'll touch every inch of my skin, you'll live for my kisses. Until one day you'll wake up and all you can think of is me. Of the pleasure I bring you. Of how it feels when I'm inside you. All the sorrow will fall away, and you'll be mine forever.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
He stretched his face toward her lips. "I'm going to kiss you. We've kissed before, remember? " Pitching his tone to be low and seductive, he asked, "You liked it, didn't you?" Her voice wobbled. "Very much." She was so trusting. So damnably, beautifully honest. "I put my tongue in your mouth, explored and tasted. Like this." He brushed her lips, his mind anticipating the shy blossom of her mouth beneath his. He loved the little catch of breath she gave as he slid his tongue inside, loved the flavor of brandy, loved that she couldn't resist putting her arms around his shoulders and twining her fingers in his hair. The liquor had loosened her inhibitions; she touched his tongue with hers, then when his tongue fell back, she followed, delving into his mouth, touching his teeth, ringing his lips. Her diffident exterior hid a siren of uncommon power and boldness, and he would show her everything her instincts only suspected. Gently, he sucked at her tongue, rasping the end with his own. When she fell back, out of breath, he slid her one glove down her arm. "Can you imagine me doing that to you... down there?" Ever-so-gently, he kissed the soft, pale skin at her elbow. "Can you imagine that?" "Yes," she said faintly.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
Her legs were clutching at him now, twining around him. She was trying to draw him in, and she didn't even know what she was doing. She was drowning in instinct, and he loved it. Loved knowing that this woman, so soft and tender, could blaze to passion with a single touch. And he was going to give her... more than a touch. Leaning his head down, he breathed in her fragrance. "My darling girl, tonight is the first of a thousand nights. Remember this- I'm going to possess you in every way a man can possess a woman, and you're going to beg me for more.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
Staring into his cold, pale eyes, she felt the chill of the future. Slowly, as if irresistibly drawn, he slid his fingers into her hair, loosening the already drooping chignon at the base of her neck. Leaning his face toward her, he spoke, his voice gravelly with desire. "I love your hair. It's as thick and rich as sable. I'll see this spread over my pillow before a fortnight has passed. I'll bury my face in it and drink in the scent. I'll use it to hold you in place while you thrash beneath me and moan with pleasure." She was shocked by every word. By every threat and every promise. But more than that, she watched his soft, tempting lips move with his words, and she wanted those lips on hers.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
When we're married, we'll make a place for your cousin in the household. Never fear, dear duchess. I will love her as you do." Eleanor flushed. Mr. Knight had a way of saying the right thing and lighting a glow in her heart. He would hate her when he found out the truth. But she wouldn't let that dismal prospect ruin tonight. Tonight he belonged to her. As she moved with him, he filled her vision, soaked into her pores. Occasionally she would catch a whiff of his essence, like bracing cold air, spicy cinnamon bark... clean white sheets. While around him, she must not think of things like pleasure and beds. It might lead to... pleasure and beds.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
But perhaps, tonight, Eleanor should do as Madeline would do- and live for the moment. Tonight, she would abandon her fears and behave as any young lady would who danced her first dance at her first ball with the most handsome man in the room. Catching a glimpse of the dancers in one of the mirrors, she admired one young lady who moved with grace, who dressed with flare and whose hair looked dashing and sophisticated. As Eleanor watched, the lady imitated Eleanor's movements. She wore Eleanor's clothing. And Eleanor realized... the dashing female was herself. She was the one who danced like a dream. Her haircut had transformed her face. She appeared younger, joyful, strikingly modish. She looked less like Madeline and more like... like Eleanor might have looked if her stepmother had never made her appearance in Eleanor's life. Eleanor laughed at herself. Foolish to think a simple cut could change her, but spying herself unaware made her realize that looks were deceiving. No matter how frightened she felt inside, no one could see past the fashionable facade. No one except Mr. Knight. He took her hand for the promenade and looked into her eyes. He had a way of dancing that was almost like... making love. With him, she felt like the finest dancer in the world. They moved together, and when the music ended, she couldn't restrain her smile. She was happy. Tonight, for this moment, she was happy.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
During the REM stage of sleep, the body becomes essentially paralysed; however, the   eye  and  respiratory  muscles  remain  active.  Perhaps,  if  these  muscles  were  behaving  in   synchronicity with the dreamt actions of the dreamer (i.e. dreamt eye movements affecting   physical  eye  movements,  and  dreamt  breathing  patterns  occurring  in  unison  with  bodily   breathing),  then  a  lucid  dreamer,  having  conscious  volition,  could  be  asked  to  send  a   prearranged signal via one of these routes (specific eye movements or breathing patterns)   during  the  process  of  dreaming. For  it  was  Hearne  who  first   demonstrated,  through  a  truly  ingenious  experiment,  that  a  lucid  dreamer  could   consciously signal the waking world from the world of dreams; in other words, a message   could be sent from one reality to another.
Daniel Love (Are You Dreaming?: Exploring Lucid Dreams: A Comprehensive Guide)
Many men may object that they themselves did not choose a spouse on such an anaclitic basis, but Freud argues that a man often turns his wife into a mother figure as time goes on. As different from his own mother as she may have seemed at the outset, in the space of a few months, years, or even decades, he ineluctably seems to cast her ever more in the role of mother – especially if she has become the mother of his children – and to view her as he viewed his own mother. (In my thirty years of analytic practice, the absolutely most common slip of the tongue I have heard made by men involves saying “mother” when they consciously meant to say “wife”; saying “sister” instead of “wife” would probably come in second.) Thus, even a man who selected a woman whom he believed to be as unlike his mother as could be, and who found his partner sexually exciting for several or even numerous years, sooner or later begins to feel about his wife much the way he felt about his mother. Although perhaps initially thinking of his partner as not a terribly “good girl,” if not altogether a “bad girl,” he gradually begins to act toward her as though she were some kind of untouchable figure. Should he, nevertheless, attempt to make love to her – perhaps out of a feeling of duty or nostalgia – he is likely to discover that he cannot achieve or maintain an erection with her without fantasizing about other women, looking at porn prior to or even during the sexual act, or taking “performance-enhancing” medications. He may seek to blame this on his advancing age or some physical condition, and the medical establishment – eager to sell him drugs – encourages him to believe this. In general, however, he has no problem achieving and maintaining erections during his dreams at night (during REM sleep), nor has he any such problem when looking at pornography or seducing a woman he does not love. In other words, his impotence – or “erectile dysfunction,” as people prefer to call it nowadays to make it sound more antiseptic, no doubt, even if physicians inadvertently alighted upon a medicalized euphemism whose abbreviation, ED, points with poetic justice to oEDipus – is all in his head, he having mentally transformed the woman who shares his bed into his mommy. He can feel love for her, but not sexual desire. Love and desire seem to operate on different planes for him, planes that are worlds apart.
Bruce Fink (Lacan on Love: An Exploration of Lacan's Seminar VIII, Transference)
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