Shannon Sharpe Quotes

Remember, Tané, that a sword does not need to be whetted at all hour to keep it sharp.

Scattered, disconnected pieces of thoughts broadcast straight into Sophie’s brain- like being in a room with hundreds of TV’s blaring different shows at the same time. They sliced into her consciousness, leaving sharp pains in their wake. She was a freak.

She’d hoped to close her eyes and dream of sparkly winged horses flying through a bright blue sky. Instead, black-cloaked figures haunted her mind, snatching her from the shadows and dragging her away in a drugged haze. Sharp bonds sliced her wrists and ankles as someone shouted questions she didn’t know the answers to. Then fiery hands seared her skin and ghostly whispers swirled through the blackness. They would find her. She would never escape them again .

A castle of defense, a bastion of might A fort where the wise teach the young to fight An armory of weapons, sharp as hooks Are wrapped in leather and shelved as books

Remember, Tané, that a sword does not need to be whetted at all hours to keep it sharp.' 'I know.' Dumusa gave her a look. 'Then stop sharpening. And go to sleep.

I’ll always be their moonlark.” “And what exactly does that mean?” he asked. “Honestly? I have no idea,” Sophie admitted, holding her breath through the silence that followed the confession. And she cringed at the sharp sound King Enki finally made—until she realized it was a single barked laugh. “I think I could enjoy your company, Lady Foster,

We need to have a serious discussion about your leadership skills, Miss Foster,” Bronte’s sharp voice barked the next morning, jolting Sophie out of the dazed, half-sleepy state she’d been lingering in since sunrise. “And perhaps also about your strange choices for sleeping location.” Some part of her brain had been telling her that she needed to get up and get ready for a big day of super-important stuff. The other part had decided that all of that stuff could wait a tiny bit longer. And then a tiny bit longer after that. And a little more after that. As if she’d found some sort of strange mental snooze button—which she was happy to keep hitting as long as it let her stay surrounded by baby alicorns and Calla’s soothing songs instead of having to face reality. And now her entire brain was telling her that the best solution to her current situation was to pull her blankets over her head and wait for Bronte to go away.

They stared at the door. The small square window had been papered over from the inside. The knob was stained with white paint. The door really wasn’t interesting enough to keep staring at. Then she noticed Mike was smiling. “You’re enjoying this,” she accused. “A little. You’re never afraid of anything.” “What do you mean ‘never’? You know I’m terrified of egg slicers and sharp paper.” “And stampeding sheep, and animatronic presidents, and Captain Stubing from—” “Enough.” She shuddered.

Know what would make me happy?” “If I buy a more manly brand of toilet paper?” “No. Well, yes. But we can talk about that when we’re not naked.” She draped her arm over his shoulders and ran her fingertips over the sweet spot at the back of his neck. “What should we talk about while we’re naked?” He groaned and rolled onto his back, but he took her with him so she was straddling his hips. “Let’s talk about how you look working in the sun, with your skin all shiny and a smear of dirt on your nose.” “Does me being all grubby and sweaty turn you on?” “Watching you work turns me on. You work hard and you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty. I like that in a woman.” “Flattery will get you—” she swiveled her hips, brushing over his erection and making him suck in a sharp breath “—everywhere.” He reached up and cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. “Don’t wanna be anywhere but here.” The man knew all the right words. He definitely had all the right moves. And he was a quick learner, so he already knew all the right ways to touch her to drive her out of her mind. He had a way of looking at her with those intense blue eyes that made her feel as though he’d been waiting his entire life just to make love to her. And, as long as she wasn’t stupid enough to imagine she could see forever in those eyes, she’d take it. He ran one fingertip down her forehead to the bridge of her nose. “You’re frowning. What are you thinking about?” She shoved the word forever out of her mind and ran her hands over his rippled abdomen. “I was wondering why you’re not inside me yet.” “Because you’re frowning at me. Gives me confidence issues.” Reaching between their bodies, she stroked the hard length of him. “Confidence is never an issue for you.” He grinned and flipped her onto her back. “I’m confident I can have you whimpering my name into your pillow in five minutes or less.” “I don’t know,” she said as his hand brushed over her stomach and kept going south. “I’m not an easy woman to please.” His mouth followed the trail his hand had marked against her skin. “I never could resist a challenge.

Keri answered the door, looking frazzled and not having the best hair day he’d ever seen. “Hi, Sean. I was just thinking, gee, I need more Kowalskis in my life right now.” He laughed and stepped into the big foyer. “Baby acting up?” “I thought the Kowalski men were royal pains in the ass—no offense—but you guys have nothing on the girls.” “Joe writing?” She blew out a sharp breath and put her hands on her hips. “No. Joe is pretending to write so I won’t dump Brianna in his lap, but he’s probably playing some stupid game.” From the other room came a pissed-off howl that Sean hoped was their daughter and not a wild animal foraging for table scraps. “So he’s in his office?” Keri nodded and waved a hand in that direction before making a growling sound and heading off to appease her daughter. Welcome to the jungle, he mused before heading to Joe’s office. He rapped twice on the door, then let himself in. Joe looked up with a guilty start and Sean knew his wife had him all figured out. “She knows you’re only pretending to write so you don’t have to deal with the kid.” “You know what really sucks? Everybody keeps saying to just wait till she’s older. Like it gets worse. How can it get worse?” Sean lifted his hands in a “don’t ask me” gesture. “For years I’ve been writing about boogeymen and the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. I had no idea there’s nothing scarier than a baby girl.” Sean laughed. “She can’t be that bad. What does she weigh? Ten pounds?” “Fifteen. But it’s fifteen pounds of foul temper and fouler smells. Trust me.” “I’ll take your word for it.” Joe leaned back in his leather office chair and sighed. “Let’s talk about your life. She still on the couch?” “Yes, she is.” “Good. I said you’d last three weeks.” Maybe, but Sean wouldn’t bet on it. Or he shouldn’t have bet on it, anyway. Especially a whole month. His balls ached just thinking about it. “You guys come up with a plan for the kids for Saturday yet?” “Yeah, but it’s going to cost you.” “Not a problem. I’ll just take it out of all the money I’m going to collect from you idiots at the end of the month.” Joe grinned. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.” He was. With as much oomph as he could muster. And he’d probably keep telling himself that up to the minute he got Emma naked.

The orange broke under her teeth. Siden poured forth like molten sunlight - magic of the deepest earth, enriching her with its power again. She let herself be set on fire. For a time, she was an impossible candle, her wick renewing as it burned. It was night by the time the magic settled. She lay still, aware of every wingbeat and blade of grass, the heavy scent of blossoms that had thickened almost to a taste. The stars gleamed sharp as arrow points, and all the world thrummed in her skin. She glanced down to see a glow in her fingertips. That golden light would fade; so would the heavy calm. Her skin would be tender and feverish by morning. She would be hungry: for food, for touch. Before all that could strike, she rose, and pressed her hot brow to the tree in gratitude.

I needed to fade. Not to die, not to disappear altogether – just to soften, so the world stopped catching on my sharp corners. So I didn’t feel it when it scraped me. I ached for the comfort of absence. I longed to exist less severely.

Of Team Prodigious. Her nose crinkled. Dex was right. That name had to go. “It’s not a reference to prodigies,” Councillor Emery tried to explain. “ ‘Prodigious’ means ‘extraordinary.’ ” “It also means ‘abnormal,’ ” Councillor Bronte informed them, with the closest thing to a smile that his sharp-featured face was capable of making. “Yeah, well, whatever your boring reasons are,” Dex said through a feigned yawn, “the name’s still a deal-breaker for me.” “Me too,” Biana agreed. “I think we should be Team Sparkles, because we’ll make everything better!” Dex snort-laughed—then frowned. “Wait, was that a serious suggestion?” Biana’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas.

That’s the thing about truth, it’s anything but gentle. A sharp knife could not have cut me cleaner to the bone.

For the next two hours, he would toy with her, giving her a chance to repent. Whether she did or not made no difference. He fingered the knife in his pocket. The blade was sharp and tonight she would feel it. Her time would run out an hour before sunrise. As with the others, he would weigh down her body with a cement block. Barely alive, she would struggle against death as they all had. The water would fill her lungs. The last thing she would see on this earth would be his eyes, the eyes of her murderer. How long would it take before her family, her friends reported her missing? A day, possibly two? Surely no longer. Then the search would begin. He would watch the news reports, recording them all on his DVR. In a week or two, some tourist or jogger would spot a floater in the Potomac. All evidence washed away, she would be just another woman executed by the D.C. Killer. He would add her disc to his collection. He whiled away the time thinking about his first kill. She had lounged in her bath, thinking she was alone. When he entered the bathroom, she smiled. The expression on his face made her smile falter. He came at her, grasping her by the shoulders. He pushed her down, holding her struggling body under. Her eyes wide with terror, she tried to plead with her murderer, to ask her husband “Why?” He sank her body in the Potomac, the first victim of the D.C. Killer. The door opened. Shannon Miller stood in the breach, surveying the parking lot. Nervous, she started to go back inside, then changed her mind. She peered toward him, her eyes straining to penetrate the mist and gloom. He was a shadow, invisible to her. Seeing no threat, she stepped out, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap-tap of her high heels pulsated on the cracked asphalt. The beat of her shoes matched the throb of his heart. He could hear her heavy, fearful breathing. He smiled. The moon scurried behind the clouds as if hiding its face in horror. He was an avenger, a messenger of God. His mission was to rid the nation's capital of immoral women. Fearing him, prostitutes now walked the streets in pairs. Even in their terror, they still pursued their wicked trade. At times he saw them huddled in groups of three or four. They reminded him of children in a thunderstorm. Like a spirit, he crept in her direction. The only light was cast by the Miller Lite sign and a distant street lamp. The light in the parking lot had burned out weeks ago, throwing it into darkness. He stalked her as a lion does its prey. He moved slowly, silently, low to the ground, keeping the car between them. His dark running suit blended with the night. He was the Dark Angel, the Angel of Death. In another life, he had passed over Egypt, killing the firstborn of those condemned by God. Her eyes darted in every direction, still she didn't see him. He was invisible. Her hands shook as she tried to get the key in the door. The 11 o'clock news reported that another one had been found. If he stuck with his pattern, the D.C. Killer would strike again tonight. By morning a woman would be dead. She prayed it wouldn’t be her. She fumbled, dropping the key ring. She stooped to pick it up, her head turning in every direction, her ears alert to every sound. Now, without seeing him, she sensed him. She lowered her eyes, trying again, successfully this time. She turned the key. There was a click. She sighed, unaware that she had been holding her breath. The dome light flashed as she opened the door. He was on her in an instant. Their bodies slammed against the door. The light blinked out. He held her in an iron grip with one hand over her mouth and the blade poking into her