Steampunk Quotes

Steampunk is...the love child of Hot Topic and a BBC costume drama

I like a little fight in my girls." She grinned at him,causing blood to dribble down her chin. "Then you're going to love me.

Don't mistake me, Treasure. I can offer you many things, but friendship ain't one of them. Now, for once in your life, be a sensible girl and run away.

Steampunk is...a joyous fantasy of the past, allowing us to revel in a nostalgia for what never was. It is a literary playground for adventure, spectacle, drama, escapism and exploration. But most of all it is fun!

OMG YOU GUYS it has come to my attention that SOMEONE on the internet is saying that my fictional 19th century zombies are NOT SCIENTIFICALLY SOUND. Naturally, I am crushed. To think, IF ONLY I’d consulted with a zombologist or two before sitting down to write, I could’ve avoided ALL THIS EMBARRASSMENT.

Steampunk is nothing more than what happens when Goths discover brown.

What's the matter with her? [Jasper] asked Griffin. Griffin shook his head. 'Nothing. She's just two personas struggling for dominance in one body.' [Jasper] ... Poor little thing.

As frightening as we may think her, I believe she finds herself even more so.

I cannot tell my heart what to feel.

Who do you think keeps this country safe so you can sleep at night?” “I don’t sleep most nights. And to be honest, Your Grace, I don’t feel all that safe.

Don't you dare die. You have to live so I can curse you up and down for scaring me like this

Don’t cry, Treasure. You’ll get me all wet and then I’ll melt. I’m made of sugar, don’t you know.

Finley hesitated. Maybe he’d move out of her way and let her pass. Or a voice in her head whispered—her voice—you could kick his teeth in.

But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.

Jasper waited until the man was gone before asking, “You ever get tired of folks puckerin’ up to your backside?” Griffin faced him with mock gravity. “Yes. It is deuced tiring, people doing whatever I wish. Makes my life so very disagreeable.

I like stories about supervillains. They teach children that you can accomplish great things even when the whole world is against you.

There were some problems only coffee and ice cream could fix.

You’re not going to take advantage of me, are you?” The cushions felt so nice behind her head. It was so nice to lie down. “Novels are always warning young women of the dangers of being taken advantage of by wealthy young men.” “You are perfectly safe. Emily is here to protect your virtue.” “That’s too bad.

She didn’t want to believe the pretty gentleman capable of such violence, but she had learned the hard way that pretty gentlemen were often the worst of the lot.

I do hope you’re using that thing to look at photographs of Moulin Rouge ladies as a young man your age should, and not hunting down another bothersome criminal.

I am tempted to incapacitate him with the hemlock and then castrate him.” Lena paled. “I don’t think that would be very wise,” she said. “And the only knife we own is what I use for the cooking. You’re not using that.” “I was planning on using a spoon,” Honoria replied.

This is delicious,” she said, when she finally recovered enough to speak. Jack was watching her in a curious manner. “You could have ’em every morning if you want.

A clockwork heart can't replace the real thing.

Steampunk is Victorian science fiction

Humanity, I’m sure I do not have to tell Your Grace, is a strange animal.

It was a terrible time to realize you were falling in love with someone - when you were kissing another bloke

You're staring." "Can't 'elp meself, he replied. You were made to be stared at.

What I have is hardly a talent,” she replied. A curse, perhaps. More than likely a demon. What she needed was a good exorcism.

You're not a distraction, you're a bloody obsession.

There were moments in a person's life that they would carry with them until their dying day, and Finely knew the moment Jasper's heart broke would be one of those for her.

So, did you hold back during that test?" "Maybe a little," Sophronia admitted. Soap grinned. "That's my girl." Sophronia glared at him. He was getting familiar. "You are, miss." He continued to grin. "I'm my own girl, thank you very much.

You didn’t discover a secret passage into someone’s palace and not tell them everything you knew about it.

Indeed. I have often thought that when a man selects one word over another he often reveals far more of himself than he intended.

Why is it I only get to see you with your shirt off when you're hurt?

You think I pretend weakness?" She nodded. "Not weakness, but you like to let others think they're in control, when it's you.

...you shouldn’t have put yourself in that kind of danger for me.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye—she knew this because she was doing the same to him. “If not for you, then for whom?” he asked softly.

You aligned yourself with the wron fella and there were consequences. Now you can wallow in it, or you can pull that thick head of yours out of your posterior and help us figure out how to fix things.

I'm not going to be a distraction for you, or allow you to be one for me." "A distraction?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you think you are? What I am? Bloody hell, woman. I need something to distract me from you!

Finley’s head jerked up. Griffin King. The Duke of Greythorne. She had overheard Lady Alyss discussing him with several of her friends just last week. They said he was handsome, rich beyond understanding and had a nice bottom.

Finely dropped her head, squeezed her eyes shut and began silently to do what some might call praying, she called it begging.

Just roll me in fairy dust and call me a unicorn.

What would I do without you to give me clarity?" "I imagine you'd suffocate yourself by shoving your head too far up your own backside.

What I want from you,” he said, and Finley braced herself, “is your trust. Irrevocable and unshakable. I want you to put your life in my hands, and I want to be able to do the same without hesitation.” Disturbed to her very soul, Finley could only shake her head. “You ask too much.” Put his life in her hands? He was deranged! A bedlamite for certain. A crooked grin curved his mouth. “Too much? You strange and wonderful girl, that is the least I’ll ask of you.

Supervillain" means never having to say you're sorry

The Machinist ain’t exactly loquacious when it comes down to his nefarious undertakings.

Griffin!” Finley cried. She moved to attack the automaton, but Sam stopped her. “Wait. Griff’s got a plan.” “How do you know?” she demanded. Sam and Jasper both looked at her with bemused expressions. “Griff’s always got a plan,” Jasper informed her, as though it was absolute fact.

Looking up, he met her startled gaze. 'Let down your guard, Honor. Let me in. Let me love you.' He kissed her lips, tasted the sweetness of her breath. 'Trust me. I won't ever 'urt you.

You want a torch or a candle, maybe? You've got your head so far up your own arse, it must be dark in there." -Sam

What am I?" She grinned. "A pain in my posterior." He smiled, too, crinkles forming around his eyes. "I like your posterior." "Yours isn't too shabby, either." "Answer the question." "I thought I had.

If the city of London was a body, Whitechapel would be the groin; a great unwashed area that only showed itself under the cover of darkness, and only for the most salacious of entertainments. No one of “proper” birth ever admitted to going there, but they all did at one time or another—or at least they wanted to. Slumming was very popular these days.

I won't keep you from your beauty rest for long, Jack," Finley shot back as she strode into the drawing room. (...) "I should 'ope not, luv. It takes a lot of rest to be this gorgeous.

Dandy?" Sam was full-on scowling now. "What the hell does that scoundrel want?" Finley returned his dark expression with one of her own. "You shouldn't use words you can't spell, mutton head.

Many great things have been accomplished by the careful combination of keen minds and ardent spirits.

You're perfectly safe. Emily is here to protect your virtue." "That's too bad.

I can't promise that I'll never be an ass, or that I'll never make you cry. I can't promise that I won't make you so angry you want to cosh me over the head with a brick. I can't promise you forever...I'd love to, but I can give you right now. I can give you me in all my defective glory.

Suddenly he was in the doorway, looming over her in a determined fashion. Gone was sweet, patient Griffin. This was the Duke of Greythorne, one of the most powerful men in England. “I don’t care that you came to Dandy,” he said, his voice low, but sharp. “If you want to blame yourself for Sam’s injury, then go ahead and be a fool. And I don’t care that you could cosh my head in if you wanted. I came here to get you and if I have to, I’ll toss you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry you all the way to Mayfair. I’m taking you home where you belong.

You're the very spawn of Satan and I'll not have you darken this door ever again.

Tesla might not have invented a machine for going back in time, but Griffin thought he'd just found a way to stop it.

Learn from it and then let it go. Dwelling never helped anyone.

Sam glanced at him. "Feeling sorry for yourself, are you? I suppose you're allowed. I mean, look at how bloody awful your life is." "Sarcasm doesn't become you," Griffin retorted.

Spending all this time fretting and fawning over a bloke just wasn't her. If this was what infatuation did to a girl she'd take herself off to a convent in the morning.

It seemed humans, the scientifically minded ones at least, were either tempting death or trying to prolong life. Surely that was an indication of madness.

Brushing dirt from his coat, Sam ignored the wild-eyed looks the other three gave him. Surely a house like this had enough staff to clean up a little dirt? “And who is this young man?” the old lady demanded. Sam opened his mouth to reply, but froze when he saw just who the old woman was. “May I present Sam Morgan, Your Highness,” Griffin said. Bloody hell. It was Queen Victoria. They’d just burrowed their way into Buckingham Palace.

Easy, luv. Don't stir the devil, or you'll 'ave to pay the consequences." "I'm not sure I have any coin on me," she said leaning closer and kissing the stubbled roughness of his jaw. "Do you think he would accept my favors instead?" A sultry whisper in his ear. Blade groaned, "Bloody 'ell, Honor. Don't tease a man so." "But it's so very exciting.

She refused to leave your side all bloody night", Sam remarked, with something that sounded like respect. "She's a good friend," Griffin replied. His old friend stared at him in amused disgust. "Griff, I'm your friend and even I wasn't about to sit here and watch you heal." Griffin looked away, annoyed by the sudden heat in his cheeks. "Yes, well, she was a much prettier sight to wake up to than your ugly head." "I'll have you know I've been told my eyes are like a night sky," came the mock-indignant reply.

Griffin had to get to the bottom of these automaton attacks. He couldn’t ignore them just because Finley Jayne posed such an intriguing problem in such a pretty package. And she was pretty—even when off her rocker. In that respect, she was every bit as dangerous as Aunt Cordelia seemed to think. It was a good thing, then, that he enjoyed a little danger now and again.

Finley?" His voice was weak, but there was no mistaking it. "Griffin?" Joy skipped in her chest. "You're awake." His forehead wrinkled, and his eyelashes fluttered. "Are you crying? My face is wet." "Of course not," she lied. "Sam was here before me. It must have been him.

The sleeping beauty in the fairy tale was awakened by the kiss of her prince. Finley woke up to the over-whelming and oh-so-not-delightful smell of vinegar. "Bloody hell!" She cried, lurching upright.

What if all those strange and unexplainable bends in history were the result of supernatural interference? At which point I asked myself, what's the weirdest most eccentric historical phenomenon of them all? Answer:the Great British Empire. Clearly, one tiny little island could only conquer half the known world with supernatural aid. Those absurd Victorian manners and ridiculous fashions were obviously dictated by vampires. And, without a doubt, the British army regimental system functions on werewolf pack dynamics.

He could sit in the dust and dark of the carriage house and rot for the rest of his life. Clearly that's what he wished to do. It was not my place to get in the way of so profound a destiny.

Breathe, Newberry. If you faint in the Blacksmith’s laboratory, only the stars above know what might be grafted to your body when you wake up.

Just smashing for a girl's confidence, that was. Nothing like having a bloke's attention wander when you were doing your best to divert him.

Not everyone sees the goof in people like you do Emmy" Sam said "She even sees the good in you

...because of the foulness of her mother's emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning...

Are we immortal?" he paused in his exploration of her skin. Mischief shone in her eyes. "Want me to shoot you and find out?

We are the culture. All those people that are doing those dumb TV things and promoting hate…that’s the ‘counter’culture.

You aligned yourself with the wrong fella and there were consequences. Now, you can wallow in it, or you can pull that thick head of yours out of your posterior and help us figure out how to fix things.

Aye, then.Come and dance with the Ech'lon. You can be me bloody retinue. King o' Fools and 'is merry band o' jesters. If they don't laugh us out o' the tower, it'll be a bleedin' miracle.

A dagger is the noble weapon of Brutus. Everyone understands that tyrants fall to daggers. A bomb is a sordid modern device with many complex working parts. Only engineers understand bombs

Then, like a scene in a comedy - their lips but a breath away from touching - the door to the library burst open and Sam charged into the room like a bull, a map in his hands and Jasper hot on his heels. Bloody hell, they had brilliant timing.

Call me Jack, darling. All the pretty girls call me Jack." Finley rolled her eyes. Emily grinned at him, bright eyes sparkling. "No doubt they call you many things, some of which they might even repeat in polite company." "You come here to talk or flirt?" Sam demanded. Jack smiled. "Unlike you, mate, I'm able to do two fings at once.

I reckon that's the one thing you and I have in common - we both care about Em." She gave him a small smile. "And we both have naturally charming dispositions." His lips curved a little at her sarcasm. "That, too.

May your song guide you home.

The important question is, what will your wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.

I tell you all the time, you will never be able to replace me with a brass and steam contraption.

She holstered her weapon, raising the hem of her skirts and stepping lightly around the dead bodies.

I thought you lot brought a buildin' down on 'is 'ead." "We did," Sam replied before she could. "I don't think it took.

Everything was a broken line for me in those days. I was slipped into the empty spaces between words.

When Steampunk meets adventure and adventure meets comedy and comedy meets ingenuity and ingenuity meets charm and charm meets wonder and wonder meets pleasure the result is a Triumph. Dr Grordbort is the future. And the past. Which makes an ideal present.

Griff. I bet he's never met a gal like you before." "I should hope not," she replied glibly, but heat filled her cheeks. "Nature couldn't possibly make two mistakes like me." "You're not a mistake. Don't you ever think of yourself that way. You're exactly as you ought to be.

Sweet dreams,luv."His smile suddenly blazed as though he knew what her dreams would be full of."I know mine will be.

The older woman smiled. 'You're a good girl, my dear. Just what His Grace needs - someone to take him in hand.' Finley didn't think that meant quite what came to mind.

The girl stood in the center of the large four-poster bed. She wore a nightgown and robe that Cordelia had generously, and unknowingly, donated. Anything of Emily’s would have been far too short and too small. Her honey-colored hair fell over her shoulders in messy waves and her similarly colored eyes were almost black with wildness, her pupils unnaturally dilated. Fear. He felt it roll off her in great waves. It shimmered around her in a rich red aura Griff knew he alone could see, as it was viewable only on the Aetheric plane. She was afraid of them and, like a trapped animal, her answer to fear was to fight rather than flee. Interesting. She was certainly a sight to behold. Normally she was probably quite pretty, but right now she was…she was… She was bloody magnificent. That’s what she was. Except for the blood, of course.

And then Finley seized the spindly metal arm attached to her throat. A normal human would have no hope against such strength, but Finley was not normal. She snapped the arm at the elbow joint and then ripped the offending hand from her neck. Holding the arm by the hand and wrist, she used it to beat the automaton....

Disturbed to her very soul, Finley could only shake her head. "You ask too much." A crooked grin curved his mouth. "Too much? You strange and wonderful girl, that is the least I'll ask of you.

There’s darkness in me that I can’t always control. If you like a girl with a secret side, then you’re gonna love me.

We learned the seven traditional ways to make words unclear." "Seven? That many? Which was the most effective?" "Poor grammar skills.

He doesn't lie so much as wrap the truth in temptation.

You put up this steel armor around yourself in the form of hostility and disinterest—whichever works to shield you best at the moment, but that’s not who you are.

You can’t hurt him. He’s an endangered species!” “Vampires are not endangered.” Van’s tone made it clear that it was his life’s work to rectify this regrettable situation. “No, not that,” Zack said dismissively. “He’s a Victorian!” “Brainwashed,” Van muttered. “Crazy,” Sarah proclaimed. “Steampunk,” I corrected with a sigh.

Be happy. Be free. You have a universe inside you.

Blokes are different from girls," Sam informed her - still scowling. "We don't need to talk about every little thing. You don't hear me whining when I break a nail." Finley's own brows pulled together. "Do you ever think before you open your mouth?" "Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?" Sam asked sweetly.

Moments later Griffin had Finley in the carriage, and Jasper sat on the seat across from them. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked Griffin. Griffin shook his head. “Nothing. She’s just two personas struggling for dominance in one body.” The cowboy’s eyebrows shot up, but his expression was sympathetic. “Poor little thing.

He's rich, handsome and dangerous. You like that." She smiled at the uncharacteristic lack of self-confidence in his tone. "My dear duke. You are rich, handsome and dangerous." His lips lifted on one side. "I would never describe myself as dangerous." "Could you maybe stop talking? I'd like to kiss you but your lips won't stay still." Eyes twinkling, he pressed his lips shut. Finley smiled and guided his head down to hers.

Music can make you feel things that aren’t yours—sadness, or love, or joy. A good song has a magic to it. It pulls you in and the feelings in the music take over and you become the music, you become the song.

Your face is burning so bright, I'm afraid for the draperies. Are you all right?" Fortunately, no one ever died of embarrassment. "Must be the sun. I always end up looking like a tomato." "Right," her friends drawled. "Because the sun is so very hot through those thick rain clouds." "Oh, shut up!" Emily laughed despite herself. "I'm blushing and I've not intention of explaining why.

The clock indicates the moment-but what does eternity indicate?

Freedom is a state of mind.

Here lies the body of Colonel Cornell’s. The rest of the fellow, I fancy, in hell is.

Sometimes he felt as if he'd been born in the wrong century. The people of this time were all wrong for him, and he was all wrong for them. But he refused to become something he wasn't just for society's approval.

Slowly, Finley rose from the sofa, tilted her head back and looked him dead in the eye. “I have no desire to be any more in your debt than I already am.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would it make you more comfortable if I demanded something in return? Would that put you at ease?” When he put it like that, it made her sound like an awful sort of person for thinking the worst. “It would, yes. At least that would be honest.” It might have been laughter that came scoffing from his throat, but there was little humor in it. He shook his head, the light reflecting glints of russet in his hair. “I’d like to meet whomever it was who made you so distrusting and pull his teeth out one by one.” The vehemence in his tone startled her, yet was strangely warming. “’Twas more than just one.” His face darkened, like clouds overtaking the sun. Suddenly, this was no longer just some seemingly kind, bored aristocrat standing before her, but a young man capable of many dangerous things.

Sespian opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then shook his head ruefully. "It's very easy to be drawn into what you're saying, and I catch myself wanting to nod and agree. Maybe I should take notes on your technique." Amaranthe blushed and felt like she should stutter an apology, but she hadn't done anything to be embarrassed about, had she? "It's her eyes", Sicarius said, startling her.. Yara glanced over her shoulder at him, apparently, surprised to hear him speak, but soon turned her attention back to the tracks. She seemed to be believe she should remain silent for the discussion. Sespian scratched his jaw. "Yes, maybe so. They're like a doe's. Warm and earnest and..." "Wholesome. Sicarius's eyes glinted, and Amaranthe scowled at him.

When he moved to take another sandwich, she pushed the plate just out of his reach. "Talk first. Eat later, Jack." His gaze narrowed, but there was a twinkled in his eye. "You've become cruel, Treasure. An 'eartless minx what delights in denyin' a man 'is proper tea. A little suspense is good for the digestion.

Mortals trotted about in shoes and corsets made to limit movement, fashion for prey.

Living on steam isn't easy.

Clocks are the enemies of time... they are the gaolers of day and the turnkeys of night." Tom Thumb

I had rescued myself entirely.

You’re not a mistake. Don’t you ever think of yourself that way. You’re exactly as you ought to be.

Hail a cab, please, Floote. I am going out." "Are you certain that is wise, Miss? " "To be wise, one might never leave one's room at all

You better not be dead. This team is already overflowing with ankle spankers. I was looking forward to having more women around." Yara's eyelids fluttered open. She blinked a few times, focused on him, and frowned. "Ankle spanker? The only thing you've got that'll reach that far is your ego.

As they walked, the subtle lamplight of a dirigible washed over them. Finley glanced up, watching the light grow closer, slowly descending from the sky in a whirl of propellers as the ship made its way into the London air dock just a few miles away. How amazing it must be to float so high, to travel so quickly. Dandy followed her gaze, but they didn’t stop walking. “I was up in one of them flyers once,” he told her. “I climbed over the rail and hung on to one of the ropes. Freeing it was. I almost let go.” She whipped her head around to gape at him. “The fall would kill you.” He smiled ever so slightly. “Not afore I flew. Worse ways to go.

He's so handsome," Phoebe commented just as Finley directed her attention at her. "Who?" she demanded. "The Duke of Greythorne," came the reply. "He just left." She glanced out the window, but all she saw was a tall gentleman with reddish-brown hair and wearing very fashionable clothing as he walked away from her. "Well, he has a tolerable back," she commented drily. Pheobe snickered. "Looking at his backside are you, Finley?

Greg Broadmore's fertile and twisted imagination has conjoined multiple genres, memories, and a sharp sense of pulp, colonialist nostalgia/parody in this lavish, fully realized, imaginative tour-de-force. It's Jules Verne meets Fritz Lang meets Tintin. It's beyond Steampunk. It's clearly an insatiable passion for the talismans of a bygone civilization and it's slavish addiction to the early industrial age in all it's filigreed, ignorant glory. Greg has raised the bar.

A dream is not reality but who's to say which is which?

Cursed the crown that brought such grief to me

Beauty was a weapon as well, one Viola enjoyed wielding.

It takes use to make knowledge worthwhile.

Junk?” Lina repeated, incredulous. Oh, she wasn’t about to let that pass.

The odd was the ordinary at Alistair Grim's. The people who lived there were odd. The things they did there were odd. Even the there itself there was odd.

Death is as light as a feather, duty heavier than a spire.

Compared to the power of the sun, everything else is a joke, including all the wrenches, clockwork, springs and even your steam

In the void, there is no distinction of east and west." Gwen blinked slightly at that. "I know all of those words, and yet when strung together like that I have no idea what they mean.

The steampunk genre often works as a form of alternate history, showing us how small changes to what actually happened might have resulted in momentous differences: clockwork Victorian-era computers, commercial transcontinental dirigible lines, and a host of other wonders. This is that kind of book.

Babbage's Three Laws of Difference Engines First Law: A difference engine must have at least six cogs. Second Law: A difference engine must be able to operate a loom. Third law: A difference engine must be able to kill a man, should the mood so take it.

«I love both her and them. I have come to understand that she is what they are. A woman accepts a man, expecting that he will change. A man takes a woman, expecting that she will never change. They are both disappointed. Yet within this very disappointment is the primal source of all new men and all new women»

It would take little effort for her to hurt him right now. She could hurt him badly. But Griffin King could hurt her, as well, and he hadn’t. Instead of using force or violence against her, he used patience and understanding. She had no defense against that. When he let her go, she was shaking. Tears filled her eyes as she turned to her mother who stood staring at her in horror. “My sweet little girl,” her mother whispered. “I didn’t know. I would never…” Her words faded into a choked sob. Finley crossed the short distance between them on quivering legs and wrapped her arms around the shorter woman. She didn’t care if Griffin or his nasty aunt saw her tears. If anything was worth crying over, the discovery that her father had made her a monster had to be one.

Miss her a little? God, was she daft? He was going to miss her more than a little. No, he wasn't. He leaped to his feet and practically ran to the door. He wasn't going to miss her at all. He was going to find her and bring her home.

Here, now. What have we here?" Blade whispered. "A little kitten, all of my own," he purred. "Far from home.

I do the same with my books...Nothing like a good argument in the margins with someone who's already said all they have to say on the subject.

I'm always homesick for the journey,” I had once written in ink speckled script, adding almost as an afterthought, “...no matter what it may hold.

You’ll have to do better than that chaps, if you want to kill me!

Age, like wealth is but a mental abstraction, my boy"~ Herr Doktor Pavel

All right boys, let’s sail away! Show those bastards how airship pirates fly a ship!

Trust me, there are things in this mountain that will make your jaw bounce off the floor.

I’m just disappointed in myself.” “Learn from it and then let it go. Dwelling never helped anyone.

I have to believe it’s right to be a warm voice, a companion if I can be, as soon as ever I find a friend.

What I'm trying to tell you, Griffin King, is that I don't want to live in a world that doesn't have you in it." She drew a deep breath and summoned all her courage. "I love you." Time seemed to stop. He just stared up at her. A swath of her hair fell over her shoulder onto his chest and he didn't even blink. "Griffin? Did you hear me?" "I did," he answered without a change in expression. "I'm just waiting to see if maybe I died after all, because this certainly feels like heaven.

The Ketty Jay was staffed with drunkards and drifters, all of them running from something -- whether it be memories or enemies or the drudgery of land-bound life -- but since Yortland they'd been running in the same direction. United by that common purpose, they'd begun to turn into something resembling a crew. And Frey had begun to turn into something resembling a captain.

Perdonerete, ma è piuttosto difficile parlare del proprio amico e di otto tentacoli che vi aggrediscono e si infilano sotto gli abiti, insinuandosi in posti che un gentiluomo non dovrebbe nominare.

Faith was enjoying her evening, the looming presence of Major Channing notwithstanding. He seemed to swoop in at odd times, presenting her with a glass of punch or distracting her from her conversation by glowering fiercely. She noticed that if she paid any one gentleman too much attention for too long a time, the major would make himself known. Then he would disappear and ignore her once more. It was sublimely aggravating. Like being desired by a very large mosquito.

After four marriages, and four deaths, she had everything in life a woman might desire: titled position, swollen coffers, the freedom to travel, and a world that accepted her because it was afraid of her.

Perhaps you are a clockwork girl. Perhaps Mortmain’s warlock father built you, and now Mortmain seeks the secret of how to create such a perfect facsimile of life when all he can build are hideous monstrosities. Perhaps all that beats beneath your chest is a heart made of metal.’ Tessa drew in a breath, feeling momentarily dizzy. His soft voice was so convincing, and yet--’No,’ she said sharply. ‘You forget, I remember my childhood. Mechanical creatures do not change or grow. Nor would that explain my ability.’ ‘I know,’ said Will with a grin that flashed white in the darkness. ‘I only wanted to see if I could convince you.’ Tessa looked at him steadily. ‘I am not the one who has no heart.

Well, look what the scamp has dragged home with her. Pirates, henchmen and naughty, naughty men—" A soft whack noise was followed by a startled squawk, as a tea towel hit Nessy in the face. She pulled the cloth down, shooting daggers at her lifetime companion. "What was that for?" Nan tapped her chin. "You're drooling dear, might want to mop up a bit.

Whatever your medium, the goal of any arts practice is to develop a greater set of skills for dealing with challenges. Experience will help you close that gap between your own vision and the piece's final execution.

Bloody stars, if this was what it was going to be like having both halves of herself merged into one, she wasn't so certain she wanted to do it. Before evrething was morally black or white, and now if was becoming alarmingly gray.

He turned away from me, the better to hide the exclamation of annoyance which he muttered under his breath; I caught only what seemed to be the syllable cog (perhaps a reference to my mechanical trade) and the word succour (a prayer for divine assistance?).

Those angels you’ve painted in your mind wouldn’t last for a moment on the streets of London, Mother,” Ellie called out to her. “We’re the devils who stepped in to replace them.

Are you decent?” “Rarely,” he said, with an ironic drawl. “Are you clothed?” “Aye.

Whatever you do, don’t make it worse by trying to come up with some flimsy excuse for why you were in the ventilation shaft, Lina told herself.

Wasn't living your life based around what people thought and expected of you a little... well, stupid?

To truly change your stars, you must first be willing to risk everything.

It was almost romantic, in a mad-inventor sort of way.

So Finley did what so many rich girls did when confronted with a situation they did not want to face. She rolled her eyes back into her head and pretended to faint.

Follow those rats! They may lead us back to Muggins!

So much of difference between a triumph and a flop is determined by choice of venue.

But if you're to be punished regardless if we're caught wouldn't it be better to have done something worth the price?

If you’re going to write punk fiction, you have to be brave enough to look through the lens of a different era’s telescope.

Her heart kicked hard against her ribs, seized by a terrible fear that refused to let go no matter how hard she pushed.

Emily's ginger brows were knit tight, the edges of each almost meeting over the bridge of her pert nose. "You know I will, you daft baggage. As if we have any other option.

Seriously man, what are you waiting for? Get in there - or I will." - Marek Montvene

Gavin tried not to stare at the lobster. He decided not to inquire further. Whatever Jack's reasoning, best to accept that crustaceans were necessary to his view of the world.

They were alike, they were. Both predators, both dangerous and both vain. And they each found the other fascinating.

Finely blinked, "Griffin?" "That's my girl." He murmured in a low tone, so no one but her could hear. Then, as the crowd drew too close, he swept her away,

When she left her room she locked the door and slipped the key into a small pocket inside her corset—no

And now we both blushed, because things like changing one’s garments should not be discussed among a Queen and one of her subjects.

Does a pistol murder a man? Or is it the man who pulls the trigger? Can we blame a rabid dog who tears apart a child? Or should we blame the one who kicked and starved and tortured it?

Never before had he seen a woman so angry—or so seductive. It rendered him speechless. He couldn’t fight the compulsion to kiss her. She punched him on the chin, snapping his head back.

Miss Pickett...Lucy ~ for the love of heaven, may I call you Lucy? I've saved you from a ghost and a vamp attack. I've seen your naked back, and this marks the second time you've slept in my bed.

They were all machines, he thought, just like La Mettrie had said in L'Homme Machine all those years ago. So he, Orphan, was a machine of flesh and blood, and Lucy, now, was made of something else, more complex perhaps- but they were the same and... They were in love. Sometimes that was enough.

When you read my stories, I want you to see the world through my eyes; as if I based my work on you. Come away with me, and I'll show you a world that you've never seen before or ever want to leave.

I am not willing to subject you to a lifetime of the potential dangers of living with a predatory shifter."... "We've already discussed that. I'm not in any danger. In fact, you saved my life while in shifted form. We'll be fine. We can go for long walks together." She smirked. "I'll buy a leash.

How dare you! What is your name? I shall make it a sin to be spoken.” The braveness of his chuckle and grin made me step back. “Garrett. My name is Garrett and please make my name a sin to speak. Maybe that way I won’t have people like you screaming out for people like me; for people like you are so ghastly and in need of saving too many times.” Lucy to Garrett from my Steampunk YA Romance book I have started.

Honoria clung to him, her heart and mind racing. What did she want of this? A moment of tumbled passion, a few nights of escape from dreariness of her life? or more? Someone to love her. Someone to hold her on his arms, to tell her that she was the center of his world. Some one to trust. Someone to love back.

I brought my hand to the back of his neck and leaned into him, sliding my fingers into the curls at his nape. His arms clasped tighter around me. I sighed just a little against his mouth, feeling that it was almost too much, all this newness, this feeling that there was space and light inside me I’d never noticed before. Every part of me down to my fingertips felt like reworked glass, melting into some new shape, my edges beginning to glow. I wanted to do nothing but change this way, pressed against his body, his warmth and goodness, forever.

Perhaps one day, you’ll become a man and sail the oceans too. Perhaps you’ll find buried treasure and discover new lands of your own. The world lays waiting for your adventures too and we can only dream of what they may be.

You have a point," he conceded. "Shall I put my foot down? How about I issue an ultimatum? Its Dandy or me. What would you say to that, Miss Jayne?" Her honey-brown eyebrows lifted, "I would probably choose Dandy just to spite you.

I must warn you, my story isn’t a pretty one: abductions, time-traveling dragons, the Order of the Black Fez, highly verbal cats, a secret invisible city, condescending robots (condescending means they talk to you like you’re an Idiot; wait, is it condescending of me to explain what condescending means?), and that’s just for starters. —Willa Snap

Guilt was not a good look for him—it gave one unsightly lines. And now he felt bad for being rude to the housekeeper, as well. Damnation. He was going to have to cheat at cards and seduce a married woman just to get his equilibrium back.

Not my job to judge, boy." Baba Yaga filled and lit the pipe again. "But I do observe that its difficult to escape familiar patterns. When you live your life with cruel words, you look for people to give them to you. When you escape and evil stepmother, you take an uncaring bride. When your father throws you out, you love someone who won't love you back. And to keep yourself in cruelty, you're willing to risk head and hands on the mayors side board. Keep the pattern going. Hm.

«“I meant, tell me all about this steampunk thing!” Gavin broke in. “How does that concept work out for you people, here in Brazil?” “You don’t know about steampunk?” shouted Xavier, dubiously. “Well, I don’t read many novels! Because I’m kinda fully-booked already! But, obviously, you’re a science fiction writer at a Futurist conference! And I can see that you’re all dressed up like some fancy guy from the past, from the 19th century! So what gives with that? What is all that about?”»

As they walked, it seemed almost every building had some similar contrivance as decoration, adorning the street in a cacophony of clangs, bangs and whirs. The street’s surroundings danced with steam and smoke, the scent of oil and grease its perfume.

What is it, you ask?" Kali said, trying to cover her surprise with nonchalant words. "I haven't thought of a name yet. Got any ideas?" "Shit," the pirate said, said of. The gag made elocution difficult. "That wouldn't impress anyone at the patent office.

What makes us the strongest tribe on the continent is the fact that a group that opposes these values--a group that would have mankind remain in the new dark ages--is permitted to grow, permitted to exist...and, after it becomes a violent terrorist organization, is allowed to live on it own lands, taken out of the lands of those it has attacked and continues to attack!" He had to stop speaking then--the applause was louder than even his amplified voice. "They expect that fear will drive us to become like them...closed-minded, blind, angry. Our society will remain open and free so long as I am standing upright," he continued, once the applause died down.

The machines of this place are failing, and the woman and I are here all alone. The perpetual motion engine, as brilliant and beautiful as it is, is running down—nothing lasts forever. But before this little world falls out of the sky there still might be time enough for redemption. There is still time for me to say the words that I should have had the courage to say at the beginning. There is still time, perhaps, for one more miracle. Hello, Miranda.

Dust is not a constant. There’s not a fixed quantity that has always been the same. Conscious beings make Dust—they renew it all the time, by thinking and feeling and reflecting, by gaining wisdom and passing it on. And if you help everyone else in your worlds to do that, by helping them to learn and understand about themselves and each other and the way everything works, and by showing them how to be kind instead of cruel, and patient instead of hasty, and cheerful instead of surly, and above all how to keep their minds open and free and curious…Then they will renew enough to replace what is lost through one window. So there could be one left open.

And there on the piss-soaked cobbles, his back to the alley and his face to the wall, lay the object of their diplomatic mission: A sleeping drunk. Colt lay out his hand in a flourish. “Mr. Billings, may I introduce to you His Imperial Majesty Joshua Norton the First, Emperor of the United States of America and Protector of Mexico.

Muistot ovat lepattavia varjoja, puolikkaita lauseita. Tiedän, että joskus polkua kehystivät talvi-illassa palavat lyhdyt, ja että kesällä joku juoksi täällä paljain jaloin ja nauroi. Valoisana iltana joku lämmitti saunaa ja ilma tuoksui savulta ja koivunlehdiltä. Kuulen viimeiset, väsyneet askeleet vastakkaiseen suuntaan ja maistan jäähyväisten kitkeryyden. Haistan tuomenkukkien tuoksun ja siihen solmitun lupauksen. Kymmeniä, satoja, tuhansia polkua pitkin kulkeneita. Niin monia ennen minua, ja viimein enää kaksi: ne, joiden jälkeen talvi on jäänyt yksin, eikä kukaan ole palannut sitä noutamaan.

A priest, who came from a land far away and wed priestess Seshat, used powerful magic for Pharaoh Tutimaeus. With his invention of a horseless chariot and magic men who blew steam, the Egyptians defeated the Hyksos warriors.” He felt his mouth quirk and a deep chuckle rolled from his belly. “Well, an Egyptian priest is a quite a step up from assistant to the conservator of the Louvre.” - As Timeless As Stone

Oh, it doesn't work at all. That's the problem! It's an endless, halting parade of inspections, bribes, and nonsense—but if you're aboard a Texas vessel, you'll find less inconvenience along the way." "It's because of their guns!" declared Mr. Henderson, once more escaping his reverie, bobbing out of it as if to gasp for air. "Concise, my love." Mrs. Henderson gave him a smile. "And correct. Texans are heavily armed and often impatient. They don't need to be transporting arms and gunpowder to create a great nuisance for anyone who stops them, so they tend to be stopped…less often.

The cracks grew over him like vines, faster and faster. At first he bucked, whinnying metallic screeches. Then he gradually stilled, looking up at me with frightened glass eyes. He was growing. New, molten glass leeched out between his fissures, cooled and hardened only to crack again and make room for more liquid glass. The gears inside him moaned and creaked, and metal filings gathered at the base of his transparent stomach, only to fly up again and form more joints and chains and gears. Black smoke poured from his nostrils. Soon he was the size of a large dog, then a man, and still he grew and grew until he towered over my bed, as big as any plow horse I’d ever seen. Glass dripped down his flanks like sweat, a few rivulets still glowing with molten heat.