Sierra Simone Quotes

Opening yourself up to making mistakes and being vulnerable is what makes it beautiful and special with the person you love.

With someone you like that much, the lows are as low as the highs are high. Does that make sense?' It does. It also makes me sound bipolar.' Love will do that to a person.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Whatever happens after this, I just want you to know that this was worth it. You were worth it. You were worth everything.

God is bigger than our sins. God wants you as you are—stumbling, sinning, confused.

Find whatever love is left in your life and hold on to it tightly. And one day, things will have gotten less gray, less dull.

The pain of one-sided love, of knowing that I had loved her more than she had loved me

Si vis amari, ama," you tell me. If you wish to be loved, love.

And mostly, I’m furious that I live in a world that has the power to make me feel ugly and unlovable because of my body.

if this was what love was, then I didn’t know how anyone could bear the weight of it.

A man and a woman wanting each other is by far one of the least sinful things I've seen

a cold, self-righteous prig, who goes regularly to church, may be far nearer to hell than a prostitute.

One day, you might find that you have a life again. A life that makes you happy.

Could a vow be not all the way broken? Could a sin be not all the way committed?

Perhaps Embry’s always had the part of me that wielded the sword, but she… she’s always owned the part that wears the crown.

The first step to understanding anything—whether it’s the Bible or Fifty Shades of Grey—is acknowledging that we come to it with agendas of our own. We want it to mean something, we are biased whether we know it or not, and usually what we walk away with is what we want to walk away with.

How do they not hear the trickle of my heart’s blood dripping out of my chest, how do they not see the scooped-out pain in my eyes, how can they not hear every desperate plea and every rasping sob I’ve let out in the last twenty-four hours?

And if I ever thought Ash held all the power in their relationship, I see it clearly now. Embry holds my husband’s heart in his hands and he doesn’t even know it. He’s too busy looking at the details of Ash’s faces to see the expression, too busy being in love to see how loved he is.

I want to build a tower around you, and then build a castle around that tower, and then dig a moat around that castle, and then I want to guard you like a dragon. Burn anyone who tries to hurt you into ash and then scorch those ashes a second time.

I cared about her as a person, as a soul, and I wanted to fuck her, and that was the recipe for something much worse than carnal sin. It was a recipe for falling in love.

And to be seen—really seen—was the most terrifying thing I’d ever felt.

There was life after fucking up, after all, even for those who lived without fucking.

But I’m so susceptible to this kind of touch; I bloom like a rose when I’m handled like a weed,

God can warn me all he wants, but that doesn’t mean I have to listen.

I will always be your husband and your king and your master, and it doesn’t matter who I let you fuck, you’ll always belong to me, understood?

God dwelled in sex and marriage just as much as He dwelled in celibacy and service,

She was indeed the perfect package on the surface…but below it, I sensed she was so much more. Messy and passionate and raw and creative—a cyclone forced into an eggshell.

Colchester, Ash, my captain, staking my body with his cock like a conqueror, like a king.

Is it weird to pray during sex? Maybe it is, but sometimes it happens. I’ve tried to accept that it’s who I am—a man who loves God, and who loves fucking, that I can be dirty and holy all in the same moment.

Sometimes the best decisions were the ones with the most short-term unhappiness

So many networks of love and heartbreak, so many deep folds and layers to a person’s heart.

I see the beginning. And I see the end.

I want to go the brink of not knowing myself, I want someone to take me there and hold me by the neck and make me stare at an entire reckless realm of possibility.

She was formed for sunshine and pleasure, but fuck if darkness and pain don’t look beautiful on her—

I want the memories to be worth the sins.

I hug him. I close my eyes, press my face into his already strong and heavy shoulder, and I thank God for this unexpected grace. This undeserved mercy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And right there on the soft grass, in the warm sunlight, our three hearts beat as one once again and we share every breath, every kiss, every single drop of our love. Equal and alive. Three.

Is there no way to be both completely woman and completely good?

was the only halo I ever wanted again, a circle of wicked wants and devilish delights.

I will love her until the stars burn themselves out and hang like cold rocks in the lightless sky.

Sean, faith and belief are the practices of committing a life in the face of no answers. God is and always will be outside of human comprehension.

Her eyelashes made me hard. That was a new benchmark for me, I had to admit.

I thought, this is what it’s like to be torn apart for love. This is what it means to be reborn.

If you were the last person on Earth, Abilene, then I would learn to love sheep instead. Get the fuck out of my house.

Memories aren’t meant to be torments, Brother Patrick,” Brother Connor says in a too-casual voice, the one that means he’s guessed what I’m thinking about. “They are gifts.

I know how to make sin feel like heaven.

Do we focus on pruning out all evil, or do we focus on growing love?

The thing about falling in love is that by the time you realize it’s happened, it’s already too late.

Worry is a sin, even I know that, yet I am more than just a lily of the field. I’m a lily that’s been plucked from the ground and laid at your feet. When it comes to you, I’m rootless and helpless and at your mercy for sunshine and water. And I’m not even supposed to be yours. How can I not worry?

It was the purest heavens in the midst of the worst hell, and I loved every minute of it, even though it was all underpinned by a lie--my lie—and I knew one day it would burn down around me.

The secret he keeps, the lies he tells.

Not ambitious,” he said, dark eyes searching my face. “But often careless. Not cold, but sometimes distant. Passionate, intelligent, dreamy…and too easily hurt.

Tell me you’re eighteen,” he whispered. “I’m not.” “Damn you.” And then he tilted my face back up to his, and his mouth came down over mine anyway.

I can’t tell what’s the best way to love you, whether it’s trying to catch you or to let you go.

I love you, little prince,” is all he says.

I am the leaf skating across the pond again, simply blowing where her words take me, and I can just watch with exhilarating clarity how much she enjoys

Sometimes the forbidden fruit is just too sweet not to bite.

she was the kind of woman who couldn’t live without meaning, powerful and real meaning, in her life.

I’m not asking either of you,” my husband answered sharply. “I expect you to mount her. I expect you to fuck her. I expect you to make her come. And I expect her to let you.

No, most people don’t guess, do they? That sometimes the people who laugh the loudest and reach for life the hardest are the ones closest to darkness.

God is bigger than our sins. God wants you as you are—stumbling, sinning, confused. All He asks of us is love—love for Him, love for others, and love for ourselves. He asks us to lay down our lives—not to live like ascetics, devoid of any pleasure or joy, but to give Him our lives so that he may increase our joy and increase our love.

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate I do…for I have the desire to do what is right, but I cannot carry it out. What a wretched man I am.

I want you to know that the idea of deserving something you want is only ever going to be an incomplete qualification. You’re far more likely to remember the reasons you shouldn’t have something you want than the reasons you should, and you’re far more likely to let shame steer you than joy.

God, I wanted to marry this woman or collar her or cage her; I wanted to own her, make her, take her; I wanted us on this old carpet forever, with her hair coming undone and her nipples hard and her naughty pussy milking my dick for everything it was worth.

You are not my possession. You’re going to be my wife. My wife who kneels at my feet, who presents her cunt to me without question when I demand it, who trusts me with her heart and soul and future. You think it is either/or that you belong to yourself or you belong to me, but I’m telling you right now that it’s both/and. You belong to yourself and you belong to me, and I don’t fucking care that it seems to be a contradiction because we both know it isn’t. Now if you can’t accept that, then say my name right now and we will step back and renegotiate our relationship. But if you are willing to submit to the fact that I will move fucking heaven and earth to keep you from harm, then say yes, Sir.

I wanted to show her all of my burdens and have her lift them from me with her clever mind and her elegant compassion.

I think you're starved for it." He opens his eyes and looks at her. "I'd starve for you.

I still feel like I want to melt into him, dissolve into nothing and everything at once.

Just because it’s not common doesn’t mean it’s wrong

I don't know if everything will be okay . It may not be. You may think you are the lowest point now and then look up one day and see that its gotten so much worse.

As always, she had both of us under control when she surrendered her control to me.

I’d seen enough grief as a priest to know that people never really moved on, at least not in the linear, segmented way our culture expected people to.

There is Greer, with my shadow written across her skin like a stamp of ownership.

I will break from loving him, I think. I will split with it, burn with it.

The little prince in the book is so wise but so sad. Has so much to offer this world and yet he can’t stop pining for the one he loves.” Colchester looked right into my eyes and I could not look away.

Jealousy is a word with too many meanings. It’s a TARDIS of a word, bigger on the inside, a small, mean thing on the surface, but a complicated dance of emotions and negotiations within. I’m suffering with every single meaning of the word jealous.

There’s something quite thrilling about fucking a woman in a ball gown. It’s like having a secret that no one else knows, a sin that no one else can see.

He looked up at me with the whole world in his eyes, and then he sighed. “You’re doing the dimple thing again. It’s evil.

Productivity is never the point, the outcome is never the point. The doing is the point.

It bothered me that he was perfect. It bothered me that I hated him. It bothered me that I hated him and he still made me feel itchy and out of control. It

Reasons why I should tell Zenny I love her right now: 1. I love her. 2. She needs to know. 3. She likes the honest guy thing. 4. An old nun told me to. Reasons why I should wait to tell her: 1. She’s bent over a sink.

There was a beat of perfect completeness, a moment where I felt as if I could pluck each and every atom out of the air, where magic and God and something sweetly beyond complete understanding was real, completely real.

Belief is this. Praying when you don't feel like it, when you don't know who or what is listening; it's doing the actions with the trust that something about it matters. That something about it makes you more human, a better human, a human able to love and trust and hope in a world where those things are hard. That is belief. That is the point of prayer. Not logging a wish list inside a cosmic ledger, not bartering for transactional services. You do it for the change around you; to the point of it is...itself. Nothing more and nothing less.

Here’s what I think, little prince. Here’s what I know— and you know it too. You don’t need to call me Sir to submit to me, and I don’t need you to kneel to know that you’re my possession.

The path to God has become binary: you find God as a monastic or clergy, or you find God as a layperson. There is precious little in between. Oblation comes close but is still only one thread when there used to be an entire tapestry.

That some people were born wrong, born all warped and empty inside, that I was born without the parts that made people brave or pure or good. I knew that I was born without a conscience, or maybe a

I promise you, Lieutenant Embry Moore, I’ll let you fuck me someday.” “When?” I asked, my eyes raking along the thick, hard lines of his naked body. Even sated and asleep his cock was heavy and impressive, curved along his thigh. “When you’ve earned it.” “Am I close to earning it?” He smiled. “Not even.” Well, shit.

What’s the point of sex if you don’t feel like every dark crevice of your soul has been exposed to the light? If someone doesn’t take your lust and your shameful thoughts, and twist them into a spell that leaves you panting like a dog for more? I think I want that for myself.

I met his eyes, which were almost black in the dark. “Whatever you want.” “What I want will have you flat on the ground with tears in your eyes. You think you want to give that to me?” “No.” I swallowed. “I want you to take it from me.

I kissed her until it felt like we’d exchanged something—a promise maybe or a covenant or a piece of our souls. And when I finally pulled away, it was as if I pulled away reborn, a new man. A baptism by kiss rather than a baptism by water.

Every time you gave me your trust, your obedience, and your surrender. Every time you fought me knowing you would lose, every time you carried me when I couldn’t limp along myself, and every breath and kiss you ever shared with me—it was all you saying yes, every moment of it. You’ve said yes to me so many times I’m surprised I could even hear the word no.

His eyes search mine. “So why did I want to meet you today? Because I haven’t been able to stop wanting to meet you for ten years. Because I want you. I want to kiss you again. I want to learn everything about you, everything about what you love and hate, what you study, what you want for your future.” He reaches up, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. “I want you to be mine.

Biblical metaphors for God include a laboring woman, a breastfeeding mother, even a mother hen. And man and woman were both created in God’s image, were they not? Why use Him and not Her? In fact, why even say God instead of Goddess? Both Him and Her are not enough to contain the fullness of God, who is outside the construct of gender, who is so much more than the human mind can conceive.

This was love, this was sacrifice, the opposite of sin, and maybe it was fucked up to feel like God was here with us in the back room of a strip club, but I did, like He was bearing witness to this moment where Poppy opened herself to the worst of me and erased it with her love, just like God did for us sinners every moment of every day.

Was it truly so terrible for a man of God to have sex? The Protestants had been doing it for half a millennium and they seemed no more hell-bound than the Catholics for it. And was it so wrong to want both? I wanted to lead this church, I wanted to help people find God. But dammit, I wanted Poppy too, and I didn’t think it was fair that I had to choose.

You’re as intoxicating quiet as you are laughing. And you’re as beautiful serious as you are silly. And you are altogether more potent like this, more powerful, more stirring, and maybe it’s because silliness and contemplation are so much the same thing. Maybe it’s because no matter what you’re doing, you’re reminding me that I’m here and alive and that there’s more to living than work. That sometimes we can sleep in or play or pray and have nothing to show for it.

Life is a spiral. As long as we lived, we would keep moving forward. But on a spiral path, getting closer to your destination meant periodically passing the same things—emotions, issues, character flaws—over and over again, the way a person walking up a spiral staircase would continually find himself facing north every ten steps or so.

She saw me as safe, and why shouldn’t she? I was a man of the cloth, after all, bound by God to be a caregiver of his flock. Of course, she would assume that she could tease me, touch me, without bothering my priestly composure. How could she know what her words and voice did to me? How could she know that her hand was currently searing its outline onto my chest?

I lean down and drop a kiss on the top of his head. “Goodbye, Achilles,” I whisper, and I leave Maxen Ashley Colchester alone with his head in his hands. I leave and get in my car and go back home, remembering the feel of his hair on my lips. I will break from loving him, I think. I will split with it, burn with it. And yet, for the first time, I know what I have to do. I know that I’m a good man, I know that I’d be a good leader. I know that I can stop Melwas and keep Greer safe. I know how to do it. I have to become more than a prince. I have to become a king myself.

Well, I do feel like I should mention that I think virginity in general is an arbitrary construct designed by men as a system of control and fear. And it’s heteronormative. And limiting, because why do certain sexual acts preserve virginity and some destroy it? What if I fucked a dildo every night, but I hadn’t fucked a man? Why doesn’t anal sex count? And what if I was with someone and penetration wasn’t an option, for any number of biological or emotional or identity reasons—would that make our sex less somehow? I’d be a virgin forever?