Shadowlands Quotes

We read to know we're not alone.

I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God- it changes me.

Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn fast.

We meet the people we’re supposed to when the time is just right.

Sometimes destiny lies just outside of our reach.

It's hard for an educated woman to turn her head off. That's part of the joy of being a submissive. None of the decisions are yours. When you can't refuse anything and can't even move, those voices in your head go silent. All you can do, and all you are permitted to do, is feel.

Gabi to Marcus "I can't believe out of one hundred thousand sperm, you were the fastest!

...in the end, all I want is to be with him. It's the only way my life feels complete.

That hurt querida, that really hurt

I'm sorry, Heather, but everything was not just fine before I got here. You know how I know that? Because you're dead. Okay? You are dead. Dead people don't have lockers, or best friends, or boyfriends. You know why? Because they're dead.-Suze Simon

Right on the edge of fear was where trust could grow.

Querida

Sex is a team sport, sugar.

God creates us free, free to be selfish, but He adds a mechanism that will penetrate our selfishness and wake us up to the presence of others in this world, and that mechanism is called suffering.

He looks at me, the light in his eyes fractures into millions of bits—a kaleidoscope of darkness that may never be fixed.

Christian Gray visited the Shadowlands and the real Doms laughed him out of the club. From Chat with Cherise Sinclair 08/17/12

And try to remember what we discussed, Susannah. A mediator is someone who helps others resolve conflicts. Not someone who, er, kicks them in the face.

Feelings are feelings. They don't have dumb or smart labels,

So you’ve made a friend. How sad for them.

Here I am going to say something which may come as a bit of a shock. God doesn't necessarily want us to be happy. He wants us to be lovable. Worthy of love. Able to be loved by Him. We don't start off being all that lovable, if we're honest. What makes people hard to love? Isn't it what is commonly called selfishness? Selfish people are hard to love because so little love comes out of them.

Have you gone crazy?" "Have you gone crazy, Master.

How is it that I'd nearly been smothered to death, and yet I could sit there and notice things like my stepbrother's abdominal muscles a few minutes later?

Be brave, little rabbit. Take a chance.

You dickweed! Are you always stupid, or is today a special occasion?

God, you’re uptight. Did the aliens maybe forget to remove your anal probe?

Whatever demon invented stiletto-heeled boots should roast in hell...

Don't confuse what you want and what you need.

Some people can’t keep fighting. Some people want to escape. Some people are not ready—are not able—to find a way to deal with what’s in front of them. Sometimes there’s no one to help them. Sometimes they don’t know how to ask for help. Sometimes it feels like there’s no choice but to end it. No other way out. And sometimes it’s impossible to see past that.

Fear separates--makes us feel alone--disconnected--while love--love does just the opposite--it unites. {shadowland}

They just kept grinning at me from over the stupid sign, Dopey because he's too dumb to know any better, Doc because – well, I guess because he might have been glad to see me. Doc's weird that way. Sleepy, the oldest, just stood there, looking … well, sleepy.

Impertinent submissive,” Raoul snapped, and his dark brown eyes turned mean. “Nothing new for this one. You're doing a lousy job of bringing her to heel, Marcus.” “Bring me to heel? Like I'm a dog?” Without thinking, Gabi instinctively yanked away and snapped out, “Bite me.

Don’t bother to argue. We’re both going to have nightmares. You will be in my bed and in my arms when that happens.

When something horrible happens, your brain doesn't process the memories right. It stores everything-- sounds, pain, smells, feelings-- all mixed up. It doesn't matter if you believed it or it made sense; it gets stored.

I'm after something far more esoteric than a virginal shag. Though, if you'd like, darlin', I'm certainly up for the task.

Self-sufficiency is the enemy of salvation. If you are self-sufficient, you have no need of God. If you have no need of God, you do not seek Him. If you do not seek Him, you will not find Him.

You want company, sugar?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she could only nod. “Good answer. You saved yourself a fight.

You spanked me,” she told him. “I did.” He lifted her shoulders high enough to push a wedge pillow under the pad. “And I enjoyed it very much. You have a very spankable ass, no?

Awww, that's sweet. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a well-made implement of pain.

You're very lovely, gatita." Her brows pulled together, and she gave him a skeptical stare. "Do not look at your master as if he's an idiot.

What the heck kind of name was Sir?

Oh lord and master. High muckety-muck.

the only thing men are fast at is sex.

You know how really big guys are always nicknamed Tiny?" She didn’t wait for any response, afraid she’d chicken out. "Guess that would make you Master Munchkin, huh?

You mean you’re not God? Nooo, say it isn’t so!

[...] even in the cruelest human being there can exist a flower of good. Maybe just the tiniest blossom, in need of water and sunlight, but a flower just the same.

While we may judge things as good or bad, karma doesn't. It's a simple case of like gets like, the ultimate balancing act, nothing more, nothing less. And if you're deteremined to fix every situation you deem as bad, or difficult, or somehow unsavory, then you rob the person of their own chance to fix it, learn from it, or even grow from it. Some things, no matter how painful, happen for a reason. A reason you or I may not be able to grasp at first sight, not without knowing a person's entire life story—their cumulative past. And to just barge in and interfere, no matter how well-intentioned, would be akin to robbing them of their journey. Something that's better not done.

The most intense joy, lies not in the having, but in the desire, Delight that never fades, bliss that is eternal, Is only your, when what you most desire, is just out of reach...Anthony Hopkins, from the movie Shadowlands, where he plays C.S. Lewis

You dumb-ass ape, get your hand off me. What—are you the first in your family to be born without a tail?

But while everything around us seems to be in a constant state of flux- people at their very core remained exactly the same. All of us still seeking the things we've sought all along—shelter, food, love, greater meaning—" He shakes his head. "A quest that's immune to evolution.

The shadows of Ina-Karekh are the place where nightmares dwell, but not their source. Never forget: the shadowlands are not elsewhere. We create them. They are within.

Am I your dom, little rabbit?” “Yes.” Her red-brown brows drew together. “What’s wrong?” “Not a thing.” He gave her a faint smile, and his gravelly voice deepened. “I thought I’d tell you we’re getting married next month.” ~Nolan and Beth~

She rubbed her cheek on his chest like a sleepy cat. “I like when you hold me.” Dios, she was going to break his heart. “I like when I hold you too.

Toys? When a man—a dom—said toys, he didn’t mean stuffed animals or baseballs.

To put it another way, pain is God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world. Why must it be pain? Why can't he rouse us more gently, with violins or laughter? Because the dream from which we must be wakened, is the dream that all is well.

Didn't I promise I'd always look after you and keep you from harm?

It's a girl thing, trying to change ourselves as if we can change our lives too.

If God wanted humans to eat vegetables, he wouldn’t have colored them green. Green things are moldy.

He smiled. A sub shouldn’t be terrified, but a little anxiety was good.

He kissed me gently. 'Lieutenant Malachi Sokol, reporting for duty, Captain.' 'What?' 'I've been assigned to your field unit,' he whispered as he nuzzled my neck. Oh, man. Heaven. Help. Me. 'I'm afraid I'm already being shockingly insubordinate.

Rough Night, Kitten?

I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.

I am as I am. The world is as it is. Whether I am content with that has very little to do with it.

My God, no wonder people like being tied up.

Chocolate's better than sex any day.

I won’t tell you how I managed to break in, since I don’t want the authorities figuring out, but let’s just say that if you’re going to make a gate, make sure it reaches all the way to the ground.

I’m a firm believer in equality at all times—” “At all times?” She glanced at the cuffs clipped to his leathers. “Why do I find that hard to believe?” And why the heck was she arguing with him. Mine, mine, mine. “At all times,” he repeated. “However, in the bedroom or in the club, I am a lot more equal than you.

By the way, you have a fine ass. Sir.

Well hell. He’d gotten sucked right into caring for this little bundle of troubles.

Is that your face or did your neck just throw up?

Although he assumed she’d naturally submit to him, he obviously believed she was still her own person. A strong person.

And since I am a man, I would appreciate it if you would cry for us both, gatita.

A good relationship is a two-way street, gatita. Submitting and serving is equaled by a master’s need to take control, to protect, to make someone happy.

She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least. So where was the cake? The present? The song? As he stepped closer to her—as the damned flame got way too close—she started singing. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” Marcus paused, looking at her in disbelief. See. I knew he didn’t have a sense of humor. “Happy birthday, dear Gabi”—she lifted her head and blew out the candle—“happy birthday to me.

You’re so damn big,” she whispered. “Why, thank you cariño,” he said.

If you keep all those thoughts inside, your brain will explode.

You little subs make me nervous. Being around you is too much like walking into a room filled with tiny kittens and trying not to step on one.

Funishment - not truly discipline.

People—especially men—don't always know what they want. You try, and if it doesn't work, then you may quit.” With a broken heart. As if she'd read her mind, Abuelita frowned and scolded, “Hearts mend, but lost chances are gone forever.

You want to count, Gabrielle? One! She sucked in a breath, mad enough the words slid right out. You asshole, one!

I can do anything if i want it enough.

We all make mistakes. And some of them are really bad... But that doesn't mean we're allowed to use those mistakes as excuses. In fact, doing that makes them even worse.

Slut. I’m a dirty- The sound of a hand hitting flesh was simultaneous with the shocking sting on her bottom. “Ow!” “You don’t think those nasty thoughts about my sumisita, Kimberly.

You'll never get anything done if you walk around with an unchipped heart.

You have a piercing.” “So I do.” “Didn’t that hurt?” “A bit.

Dammit, why isn’t there a book with the answers in it?

And he calls it playing? Like, whatever happened to chess? Or cards? Or tag?

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Darlin’, I wasn’t just a Boy Scout, I was an Eagle Scout.

Who needs fireworks when I have you?

I wanted the chance to give him something, to give him the best of me, as pathetic as it was, damaged and broken, warped at the edges, hardly worth having. I decided that if I had the chance, if he asked, if he needed, it was his.

I'm not likely to forget someone slapping my butt with a big piece of wood.

That’s an awful lot of littles, don’t you think?” “Perhaps.” He displayed his hand. “Big.” He set hers next to his, so small and delicate contrasted with his thick, blunt fingers. Why did holding her fragile hand raise every protective instinct he had?

Okay, you’re older. Not much, really. And considering you love staying in shape and I refuse to run, we’ll probably get all old and crippled at the same time. If not, then I’ll learn to use a cane, and I’ll get to beat on your ass for a change.

He absently stroked my hair, winding it around his fingers, smoothing it against my back. I relaxed into him, and he laid his cheek on top of my head. It felt good. Better than good. Normal. Safe. Clean and right and whole... and not at all what I expected when I decided to come to hell.

I'll work with her." For now. Then he gave Z a steady look and drew his line in the sand. "You are the owner, sir, but they're my trainees. I would be most grateful if you could remember that." Don't do it again. Gray eyes level, Z tilted his head in acknowledgement and slid the trainee's paperwork down the bar top. With a grin, the bartender set a drink on the bar. "You know, Marcus, you say fuck you almost as politely as the boss." -Master Z, Marcus and Cullen

Where's your car? Miles asks, glancing at him as he slams his door shut and slings his backpack over his shoulder. "And whats up with your hand?" "I got rid of it," Damen says, gaze fixed on mine. Then glancing at Miles and seeing his expression he adds, "The car, not the hand." "Did you trade it in?" I ask, but only because Miles is listening. [...] He shakes his head and walks me to the gate, smiling as he says, "No, I just dropped off on the side of the road, key in the ignition, engine running." "Excuse me?!" Miles yelps. "You mean to tell me that you left your shiny, black, BMW M6 Coupe—by the side of the road?" Damen nods. But thats a hundred-thousand-dollar car!" Miles gasps as his face turns bright red. "A hundreds and ten." Damen laughs. "Don't forget, it was fully customized and loaded with options." Miles stares at him, eyes practically bugging out of his head, unable to comprehend how anyone could do such a thing—why anyone would do such a thing. "Um, okay, so let me get this straight—you just woke up and decided—Hey, what the hell? I think I'll just dump my ridiculously expensive luxury car by the side of the road—WHERE JUST ANYONE CAN TAKE IT?" Damen shrugs. "Pretty much." "Because in case you haven't noticed," Miles says, practically hyperventilating now. "Some of us are a little car deprived. Some of us were born with parents so cruel and unusual they're forced to rely on the kindness of friends for the rest of their lives!" "Sorry." Damen shrugs. "Guess I hadn't thought about that. Though if it makes you feel any better, it was all for a very good cause.

She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?” “Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked. Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?” He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.

An older dom snorted. “Atherton uses the word escort loosely. The last time someone messed with a trainee, he threw the guy across the bar. Strolled over, waited for the idiot to stand up, punched his lights out, and dragged him by his jacket collar out of the place. Escorted him, my ass. Didn’t even wrinkle that fancy suit.” He took a sip of his beer and added, “Atherton is invariably polite, but nobody in their right mind fucks with his trainees.

But my attention’s elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person—only belongs to him— Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea. My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and bring him back to me. But just as I’m about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me—hair tangled and wet—clothes twisted and clinging—frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude’s tanned strong arms still wrapped around me. I release myself from Jude’s grip, but it’s too late. Damen’s already seen me. Already moved on. Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat. No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place.

...Were you in the military?" "Are you kidding me? I was in high school." "High school," he said quietly. "You’re American. And a civilian?" "Uh, yes. An American civilian." "Lovely. A straight answer. Keep it up. Did somebody train you?" "No, nobody trained me. Unless you count the Rhode Island child welfare and juvenile justice systems. Why?" Malachi held up his hand and ticked off the reasons with his fingers. "You stole a Guard's weapon. If I'm not mistaken, it belonged to a Gate Guard. Which means you managed to do it on your way into the city. You escaped Amid even after he had you in hand. You slashed his leg in just the right place, preventing him from chasing you. Under extreme duress, injured and cornered, you threw a knife and hit a target-" "It's not like I hit something vital.