Ru Quotes

The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

If you don't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?

When you become the image of your own imagination, it's the most powerful thing you could ever do.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,” she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. “You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

Don't you know not to run away from predators, sweetheart? We like the hunt.

This will last until the day roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,” he declared. “I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.

One day, I'm going to carve your heart out and keep it as a souvenir. I promise.

You might have been born with another name but you are Morana. My Morana. You’re the girl I killed for and you’re the woman I’d die for. You are mine and you are exactly where you’re supposed to be. Don’t ever question that again, do you understand?

If this is madness,” she whispered almost against his lips, “drown me in it.

True wealth is having a healthy mind, body, and spirit. True wealth is having the knowledge to maneuver and navigate the mental obstacles that inhibit your ability to soar.

She was his gravity, his fucking planet, and he was lost without her.

A Saigon Proverb: Doe la chine tran, neu buon la thua. Life is a struggle in which sorrow leads to defeat.

You’re not going to walk through life, Amara,” he uttered roughly, each word a vow that cemented itself in her heart. “You’ll dance through it. And I’ll fucking remove anyone who tries to break your rhythm. I promise you.

You're the beat to my heart, Amara.

Tristan Caine: Apparently, you're not out of my system, Ms. Vitalio.

You're in my blood, beating in my fucking heart. The only way you go is when the heart stops.

No one else gets to kill you, Ms. Vitalio," he spoke quietly. "The last face you see before you die will be mine. When it comes to death, you're mine.

If a mark of affection can sometimes be taken for an insult, perhaps the gesture of love is not universal: it too must be translated from one language to another, must be learned.

His demons dance with mine,

We've been honest so far, Ms. Vitalio," he murmured. "I'll be honest now. I despise you but I want you. Fuck it, I do. And I want you out of my system.

I'm not. I'm your Pandora's box. So, if I were you, I'd keep me very, very happy and very, very alive. Because once this box opens, your power, your empire, you will crumble and you wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop it.

You want to know the truth about drugs? You can only go one or two ways. You can go up, or you can go down. That's it. After a certain point, though, no matter what you do, what you take, you don't go anywhere, and that's when you've got to sit down and face yourself.

If you have goals and the stick-with-it-ness to make things happen, people will feel threatened by you, especially if your goals don’t include them. They believe that if you take a piece of pie, then that leaves less pie for them. Seeing you follow your dreams leaves them realizing that they’re not following theirs. In truth, there is unlimited pie for everyone!

She probably didn’t realize he had matched the structure of his back dragon tattoo to match her back scars, from one hip to one shoulder. If anyone looked at their naked backs together, they would see symmetry—a dragon breathing fire across her back in mirrored structure, side by side.

Acquaintances, in sort, represent a source of social power, and the more acquaintances you have the more powerful you are.

I would’ve kissed you bathed in blood, Corvina. If I had a chance to kiss you while a thousand ghosts rose from their graves, I would have kissed you. Don’t doubt that.

If you burned as I burn with the need to claim you. That I wasn’t alone in the fire.

You’re my magnum opus, Amara,” he told her, pressing his forehead against hers, a move that always brought the turmoil in him to a standstill. “And I am your humble servant.” “No,” she whispered, her words falling against his lips. “You are my emperor.

You are exactly where you were supposed to be,” he told her, his voice leaving no room for doubts. “I know exactly who you are.” “Who am I?” “Mine.

I’m not a victim. I’m vengeance,

In his world of gunshots and screams, her voice was a gentle prayer, evidence that there was life after the endless noise.

We may not be husband and wife to the world but I have been married to you in my heart for eight years.

I’m in your head, in your blood, in your very veins. I’ve claimed you before anything else ever could. Your body, your heart, your mind, your fucking soul, it’s all mine. Your hunger is mine to feed, your madness is mine to tame. Do you feel that?

We're not a love story. We're a tragedy in the making.

If this is madness,” he told her, echoing her words against her lips, “I’ve already descended too far.

Be very careful of what you allow to infiltrate your consciousness and subconsciousness. When you watch too much television, you'll start to feel inferior from all the commercials hard selling the idea that you're not complete unless you buy their product [...] The ad agencies appeal to your fear of not being wanted or loved. It's the same with the local news. They get you to stay tuned with a constant stream of fear tactics [...] It's as if our culture is addicted to fear and the flat screen is our drug dealer. Don't allow that crap into your head!

My attitude toward friendship has remained the same. I will support and encourage you with all the love in my heart, but if it's not reciprocal, I gotta go [...] If your friends are bitter about your success to the extent that they act out, don't expect them to change [...] Move on.

Books had become her refuge, especially books with men—humans, shapeshifters, or aliens—who fell in love hard and claimed their women, body and soul, were her favorite.

He was with me, beside me, inside me, and I did not care that my children were asleep, alone at home, or that the neighbors might come to know. He burned the fear out of me until all was left was desire.

You ever put a leash on me, I’ll fucking strangle you with it.

I'm so in love with you, caveman." "You can't take that back.

Whatever people think of me is none of my business.

I will never be a good man. But you don’t need a good man, do you? You need a devil to fight your demons because you don’t want to fight them alone.

And If I fly or if I fall, at least I can say I gave it all.

You,” she whispered to the space between them, “Tristan Caine, are a beautiful, beautiful man. And my heart beats for you.

Walking with your chest out and your head held high says you have earned the right to stomp and pummel this particular piece of real estate.

He wanted to tell her that love was too tame a word for everything that happened inside him where she was concerned. She had shifted him, realigned him from the inside out. Like a planet that suddenly pulls a moon into its orbit, she had bound him to her, given him direction for longer than she knew, gave him purpose to exist. She was his gravity, his fucking planet, and he was lost without her.

It was the most beautiful kiss she could have ever dreamed of, the most untainted she’d ever imagined from him, with a softness she’d not thought him capable of. With his intensity, with his blazing eyes, the silent promises had been of devouring. This wasn’t devouring. This was savoring.

Let Jesus be your boyfriend for now and save yourself from all that trouble.

Courage takes only a second to become foolishness," he said quietly, his dark eyes alert. "Keep that in mind.

I will not let you go into the unknown alone.

There is no reality where you and I exist that we don’t end up exactly where we are now. None.

I will kiss you and brand myself upon your heart, Amara.

I'm six foot four - hello. And with hair, heels, and attitude... I'm through the mother-freakin' roof!

Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?

The world isn't ready to see who I become if this —” his thumb pressed on her pounding pulse “—ever stops.

If she had a dollar for every time she'd thought 'what the hell?

Tristan Caine was toast. But he was one smooth toast.

keep the hearth of your thoughts pure, by so doing you will bring peace and be happy

It's a sort of piss-take on culture, because a drag queen is a clown - a parody of our society. It's a sarcastic spoof on culture, which allows us to laugh at ourselves - but in a way that is inclusive of everyone.

I change clothes at least three times a day. It's the only way I can justify all the shopping I do. Prada to the grocery store? Yes! Gucci to the dry cleaner's? Why not? Dolce & Gabbana to the corner deli? I insist!

You're my most precious art, my little hell-raiser, my Dante.

I’m done denying this. You’ve haunted me long enough. And I don’t care if you’re haunted by forces beyond your understanding or if it’s all in your head. You’re mine now. For as long as this madness ensues.

You remember what I told you about chess pieces? That I didn’t know what piece you were?” “Yes.” He turned his neck to put his eyes on hers. “You’re the queen on the board, Amara. You’re my most powerful piece, but my most vulnerable. They get you, they get me, and the game is over. So, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure they never get you.

He and I, we are doomed to bleed from a wound that will never heal.

The amount of respect you have for others is in direct proportion to how much respect you have for yourself.

Don’t play these juvenile games with me, Tristan. I will cut you open and eat you alive.

Nobody touches you, Amara, or I’ll spend a lot of time cleaning up a lot of blood.” “And same goes for you?” she asked, just wanting to confirm. “I’m not a hypocrite, baby,” he brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m not asking you to do anything I won’t be doing myself. Nobody touches me either, just you.

What if I get hurt?” she whispered into his jacket. He pulled back so she could see him, his eyes solemn, soft, sincere on hers. His face dipped closer and he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “Then, I’ll kiss your scars.

We both fucked up, Amara,” he told her, his eyes blazing. “And we’re both going to own up to it. And we’re both going to talk about this and forgive and move on. I’m not giving you a choice here. I didn’t work my ass off all these years for something trivial as lack of communication to break us.

I’m the smartest of them. I claimed you long before any of them had a chance.

Her father was a shark and she could not bleed. Not a single drop. But in learning not to bleed, she'd also learned how to draw blood.

Ego loves identity. Drag mocks identity. Ego hates drag.

God's dreams for us is far better than our own. He desires that we be able to maximize every potential and every gift that He has given us.

I’m not a victim. I’m vengeance,” she ground out. “Mark my words, Mr. Maroni. I am going to make you pay - for every single scar you’ve put on Tristan; for every little hurt you inflicted on Dante; for banishing Amara from her home. And for all the girls who went missing.

I am darkness.” He kissed her softly. “I live it, I breathe it, I am it. There is no redemption, no emotion, nothing for me. Nothing but you. You’re the moon to my dark night, flamma. You’re the only thing in this black sky that can thrive when I swallow everything else whole. The stars don’t exist in this space. Just you and I. You need me to glow and I need you to exist. It’s simple as that.

She licked him at the tip, tasting his salty flavor, and stated. “That’s fucked up. You’re fucked up. But you’re mine.” He got harder and she licked him on the underside. “Every” lick “fucked up” lick “inch of you.

Steer clear of me, little crow,” he muttered, his eyes piercing, flaying her open. “You might be a luring siren but I’m no ordinary sailor. I’m a mad pirate and I’m trying to resist your call. If I land on your shores, I will plunder and take away everything worth having. Be very careful giving me those eyes.

I moved forward in the trace of their footsteps as in a waking dream where the scent of a newly blown poppy is no longer a perfume but a blossoming: where the deep red of a maple leaf in autumn is no longer a colour but a grace; where a country is no longer a place but a lullaby.

He had badass mob stuff to do and she had nerdy mob stuff to do.

Give me your dreams and your nightmares, your pleasure and your pain, your fantasies and your fears. Give me everything. Be my queen outside, and my filthy girl inside,” he hammered his hips into hers, his words coming out rough, gritty, raw. “And make me fucking yours, so everyone who looks at my ring knows I have you finally. Say yes, Amara.

What I am is a woman who has been freed from the shackles men like you had bound me to. What I am is a woman who knows that freedom thanks to two good men who've made me believe again.

Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn." Benjamin Franklin never said those words, he was falsely attributed on a respected quotation website and it spread from there. The quote comes from the Xunzi. Xun Kuang was a Chinese Confucian philosopher that lived from 312-230 BC. His works were collected into a set of 32 books called the Xunzi, by Liu Xiang in about 818 AD. There are woodblock copies of these books that are almost 1100 years old. Book 8 is titled Ruxiao ("The Teachings of the Ru"). The quotation in question comes from Chapter 11 of that book. In Chinese the quote is: 不闻不若闻之, 闻之不若见之, 见之不若知之, 知之不若行之 It is derived from this paragraph: Not having heard something is not as good as having heard it; having heard it is not as good as having seen it; having seen it is not as good as knowing it; knowing it is not as good as putting it into practice. (From the John Knoblock translation, which is viewable in Google Books) The first English translation of the Xunzi was done by H.H. Dubs, in 1928, one-hundred and thirty-eight years after Benjamin Franklin died.

A monster,” she whispered between their lips. “My monster. One who could keep me safe and kill the other monsters who wanted to hurt me.” By the last word, his mouth slammed into hers as he turned her under him. “You always fucking had him, wildcat.” And then he ravaged her like the monster he claimed to be.

Such bliss is not meant to last. In my husband's house, my children were my real gifts.

Give them hell,” he whispered to her.

There is no right and wrong, and precepts are for fools. Every thing is just as it is! And we must experience things without condemning them, because if we condemn them, then we are becoming too involved.

This is lust,” she whispered, trying to validate it, excuse it. “No, Corvina,” the side of his lips twitched. “I’ve known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

Elsewhere, people are too preoccupied by their day-to-day survival to take the time to write their collective history.

Tristan,” she sighed, her hands holding the dresser tightly. He rolled his hips, almost blacking her out with the sudden movement, touching her magic spot. “That’s the name you’re going to be screaming for a long time, Ms. Vitalio. Remember it.

He’d seen her vulnerable multiple times and nuzzled her jugular instead of ripping it out. He’d seen her feisty so many times and had fed her fire instead of dousing it. He’d seen her as her and despite everything, he’d not exploited that, like her own father had done so many times

Never again,” he whispered, his voice rough with an edge of the wildness she’d seen in his eyes. It sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “They will die a thousand deaths,” he murmured, almost gently as his thumb traced the line of her jaw, “before they ever touch a single hair on your head again.” And then, with that deathly vow still echoing in her heart, he pressed his lips to her fluttering pulse. “I promise,” his lips wrote against her skin.

I learned that music comes from the voice, the rhythm and the heart of each person, and that the musicality of those unrecorded melodies could lift the curtain of fog, pass through windows and screens to waken us as gently as a morning lullaby.

If a hair on her head has been harmed, I will come back here again. Not quietly, no. This time, I will come to your house, and I will kill you, and I will take my sweet time doing it.” “Don’t threaten me.” “I’m warning you. Post as many guards as you want,” Tristan said, in that soft, lethal way he had. “And pray she is okay.

Now, listen to me and listen hard,” Tristan uttered, shaking her father’s jaw for emphasis. “She’s under my protection. Mine. Nobody hurts her. Nobody talks shit about her. Not me, not you, not anyone. Next time I hear you call her anything less than the woman she is, I will cut your tongue out and feed it to your dogs. Next time I see you anywhere close to her, I will kill you. Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Her. Do you understand?” Her father nodded. Tristan nodded. “Good. And anytime you forget that, just remember how I killed my father when I was a boy for her. And think on and think of the people I can kill now that I am a man to keep her safe.

Beautiful in the way pain was beautiful, because it tugged at the chest and made something visceral come alive in the stomach and caused blood to simmer in the veins. Enchanting in the way she imagined dark magic was, because it twisted the air around it and warped the mind and overpowered the senses. Haunting in the way only very few living things could be, because it sent a shiver down the spine and cloaked itself in the darkness and fed on the energy around them.

The point about pop culture is that so much of it is borrowed. There's very little that's brand new. Instead, creativity today is a kind of shopping process—picking up on and sampling things form the world around you, things you grew up with.

He had given her a taste of two things she’d never had - safety and home. Both had been concepts, ideas that existed in the lives of people who didn’t belong in her world, mirages that illusioned her kind. But he’d been feeding her little doses of both ever since that rainy night in the penthouse, and she was addicted. In the arms of the most dangerous man she knew, she felt the safest she had ever been.

My parents often remind my brothers and me that they won’t have any money for us to inherit, but I think they’ve already passed on to us the wealth of their memories, allowing us to grasp the beauty of a flowering wisteria, the delicacy of a word, the power of wonder. Even more, they’ve given us feet for walking to our dreams, to infinity. Which may be enough baggage to continue our journey on our own. Otherwise, we would pointlessly clutter our path with possessions to transport, to insure, to take care of.

She would remember it because, in that moment, something inside her shifted. Shifted utterly, because in that moment, the enemy, the man who hated her more than anything, had done what no one had ever done. In that moment, the man who'd claimed her death had given her a glimpse of life by doing something he probably didn't even realize he'd done. In that moment, the enemy had done what no one had ever even tried to do for her. He had made her feel a little less lonely.