Steel Princess Quotes

Being enemies doesn’t change the fact that you’re fucking mine.

One day you’ll dream of me as I dream of you.

My Elsa. She’s mine. Fucking mine. And no one will change that. Not even her.

Let me go. I’m pissed off at you right now.” He nuzzles his nose in my cheek. “I told you, we can be mad at each other while I touch you.” I

He places a finger under my chin and lifts so I’m facing him. “You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are with me, Elsa. You can be a fucking lunatic, and I still won’t let you go.

Steel blood runs through your veins, Princess.

It’s her way to keep me in her sights and not leave me alone with my thoughts. She’s right. I’m better off when I’m not stuck inside my head. It’s becoming a dark place way too fast.

Loving me is a one-way road, sweetheart. You can never go back. You can never fall out of love or any of that shit. It’s permanent and it’s for life.

I’ll always come back for you, sweetheart. You’re a queen, not a pawn.

Frozen. She really is. She’s so frozen, it pissed me off in the beginning. It still pisses me off sometimes,

Being mine isn’t a choice or a push and pull game anymore. It’s her only hope of survival.

My eyes fill with tears, but I exit the text, hitting the home screen. The wallpaper makes my mouth hang open. Our first kiss in Ronan’s party. I stare at Aiden with bafflement. “Why do you have this as the wallpaper?” “Because.” “I’ll change it for you.” He snatches the phone from between my fingers and tucks it in his pocket with a scowl. It’s as if I just offended him. “Absolutely not.” “Is it that important to you?” “It was the day I decided you’ll be mine till the day I die.

So she steeled herself. “I have never told anyone this story. No one in the world knows it. But it's mine,” she said, blinking past the burning in her eyes, “and it's time for me to tell it.” Rowan leaned back on the rock, bracing his palms behind him. “Once upon a time,” she said to him, to the world, to herself, “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom . . . very much.” And then she told him of the princess whose heart had burned with wildfire, of the mighty kingdom in the north, of its downfall and of the sacrifice of Lady Marion.

It was the day I decided you’ll be mine till the day I die.

blood blooming underneath the stinging bite of steel.   II.

It’s stupid, really. She should’ve learnt by now that nothing — absolutely nothing — will keep me away from her. Elsa can wear armour, and I’ll stab straight through it. Hell, she can hide behind a fort, and I’ll bring the whole fucking thing down.

You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are with me, Elsa. You can be a fucking lunatic, and I still won’t let you go.

Charlotte said that if I chose, I could cease to be a Gray and take the name my mother should have had before she was married. I could be a Starkweather. I could have a true Shadowhunter name." She heard Will exhale a breath. It came out a puff of white in the cold. His eyes were blue and wide and clear, fixed on her face. He wore the expression of a man who had steeled himself to do a terrifying thing, and was carrying it through. "Of course you can have a true Shadowhunter name," Will said. "You can have mine.

Like he wants to shield you from the world. I don’t think you even notice it, but sometimes, he looks at you like he can’t breathe without you. And believe me, that’s not the King everyone knows.

He was less than the dirt beneath those princess shoes. He'd always known it and still ... his c*ck turned to steel thinking of the smile she sent him. She was a torturer in a tiara.

She wasn't on heroin then, but she was a mess. I thought I was going to put Humpty Dumpty back together and turn her into a princess. Instead, she turned into scrambled eggs, and always was

To the fighters. Stay alive. Under it, there's that same elegant handwriting. "The worst thing you can tell a person who wants to die is to stay alive.

Monsters are born.” He leans over to bite my lower lip then whispers in dark words. “As they grow up, they either deny it or fully embrace it, but it doesn’t change what they are.

What’s wrong with you?” I whisper to my reflection. “Why can’t you be normal?

Being mine isn't a fucking choice," he says in that scarily calm tone. "It's a fucking reality.

Her head swam, muddled with heat and a lifetime of desire. Jacin's other hand abandoned her hip. She heard a ring of steel as the knife was pulled from its scabbard. Winter shuddered and kissed him harder, filling it with every fantasy she'd ever had. Jacin's hand slipped out of her hair. His arm encircled her. He held her against him like they couldn't get close enough. Like he meant to absorb her body to his. Releasing his shirt, Winter found his neck, his jaw. She felt the tips of his hair on her thumbs. He made a noise and she couldn't tell if it was desire or pain or regret or a mix of everything.

There’s always been darkness inside me. I fought it. I denied it. The time has come to embrace it. After all, it takes a monster to destroy a monster.

You're playing with fire, Ellie. You might burn.

The Bible says love your neighbor, not have nasty diarrhea of the mouth about your neighbor.

You think you have a choice, but you don’t. Not this time.” He meets my glare with his stormy eyes. “I won’t stop. Not now. Not fucking ever. Your fate has already been sealed, sweetheart.

You know, people react differently when someone breaks their heart. Some would lick their wounds and run. Others would keep their distance and hide.” “What camp are you?” “Neither. I choose to fight for my freedom. I owe myself that much, don’t you think?

Your definition of ‘well’ is troubling at best.” He suddenly smiled and affected a slight accent. “‘I do not think that word means what you think it means.’” He was obviously quoting something he and Jason seemed to know that she did not. Jason grinned. “Ha, she ain’t a princess, and you wish you were that good a swordsman.

Being mine isn’t a choice,” he says in that scarily calm tone. “It’s a fucking reality.

You are not angry about what Lilith has done?" "Oh, I'm furious. But not about my face." "Then what?" Her voice fills with steel. "I'm mad I missed.

Do you know what that means?” He grunts. “It means you’re fucking mine, Elsa. Not only your body, but also your heart and your fucking soul.

I’ve been addicted to you since I touched you. I can’t stay away from you even if I wanted to, sweetheart. So don’t ask me to. Don’t even suggest it.

I love you, Aiden. I think I always have.

The old Elsa would’ve watched me with a wild gaze. She would’ve had a battle in those electric blue eyes about whether to fight or to save her energy. Not this Elsa. She doesn’t flinch. She just remains as immovable as a statue. A cold, frigid statue. This isn’t my Elsa. And if I have to break the statue to bring her out, then so be it. She stares up at me with dim eyes. “We’re enemies, aren’t we?” “Maybe.” “Then we’re over,” she says with more strength than needed. I push a stray blonde strand behind her ear, taking my time to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” I murmur near her mouth, “Being enemies doesn’t change the fact that you’re fucking mine.

You are a nymph, Iris. You can read the tides; you can change currents. But this current, this swift course, cannot be changed. Well I know metal, Princess. And I know that any steel that does not bend is fated to break.

If you touch Silver or anyone else, you better be ready to rape me, then.” I deadpan. The corner of his lip tilts in a cruel smirk. “Are you sure you want to throw that word around when you know I have no boundaries when it comes to you, sweetheart?

He was a splendid specimen of manhood, standing a good two inches over six feet, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the carriage of the trained fighting man. His features were regular and clear cut, his hair black and closely cropped, while his eyes were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character, filled with fire and initiative. His manners were perfect, and his courtliness was that of a typical southern gentleman of the highest type.

Her breaths even out, and I think she fell asleep, but then she murmurs, “I love you, Aiden. I think I always have.

You’re so fucking beautiful.” Thrust. “And breakable.” Thrust. “And mine.

To unknown. You should’ve killed me.

I want to feel you, Elsa. I want to engrave myself under your skin as deep as you engraved yourself under mine.

Come back, okay?" A genuine heart-stopping smile lifts his lips. "I'll always come back for you, sweetheart. You're a queen, not a pawn.

But you have to believe in something. Yourself first of all. Each other. And if you’re lucky, the prince and princess live to be very old.

Death by a thousand needles. That would be a tragic way to die.

I won't stop. Not now. Not fucking ever. Your fate has already been sealed, sweetheart.

guysssssss this is the BEST BEST part in steel princess "he treats you like i've never seen him treat anyone else" and then elsa goes, "and how's that?" and– "like he wants to shield you from the world. i don’t think you even notice it, but sometimes, he looks at you like he can’t breathe without you. and believe me, that’s not the king everyone knows" i- *dead*

How?" She sobs, gasping on the words. "H-how can you want me when I hate myself right now?" "You can hate yourself, and I'll still want you, sweetheart." I tug her into me and grip her by the hips. "I told you I'll protect you, remember?

All I’m saying is; if he feels this intensely towards you, he’ll react tenfold worse if you threaten him.” “You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be on my side.” “I am, Ellie.” She sighs. “That’s why I’m telling you not to stir King’s ugly side.

The sparkling smile became enormous. ‘Do you think she has a dagger there? Do you? Ask her, M. Francis? For,’ said the most noble and most powerful Princess Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland, delving furiously under all the stiff red velvet, showing shift, hose and garters, shoes, knees and a long ribboned end of something recently torn loose, and emerging therefrom with a fist closed tight on an object short and hard and glittering, ‘for I have!’ And breathlessly, flinging back her head, with the little knife offered like a quill, ‘Try to stab me!’ she encouraged her visitor. There was a queer silence, during which the eyes of Oonagh O’Dwyer and her love of one night met and locked like magnet and iron. The child, waiting a moment, offered again, the ringing, joyful defiance still in her voice. ‘Try to stab me! … Go on, and I’ll kill you all dead!’ Her throat dry, Oonagh spoke. ‘Save your steel for those you trust. They are the ones who will carry your bier; the men who cannot hate, nor can they know love. Send away the cold servants.’ The red mouth had opened a little; the knife hung forgotten in her hand. ‘I would,’ said Mary, surprised. ‘But I do not know any.’ And, anxiously demonstrating her point, she caught Lymond by the hand.

I feel him tugging on the side of my lace thong. He strengthens the kiss, sweeping his tongue slow and deep through my mouth as he yanks as hard as he can on my thong. “OW! Son of a bitch!” I shout, pulling my mouth away from his as the lace digs into the side of my hip. “Sorry! Shit. I was trying to be all cool and rip these fuckers off you, but Jesus Christ what are they made out of, steel?” he mutters in annoyance, looking down between us as he continues to pull and tug at the material that refuses to tear.

It really is like a fairytale, isn’t it?” she said softly, smiling, with his arm around her. “The wicked witch is gone. The handsome prince turns out to be you.” “And I get the fairy princess…even if Simone owns the glass slippers.” They both laughed at what he said, and walked slowly down the hill hand in hand. They were in no hurry. They would replant the vineyards together, and repair whatever had been damaged. The fairytale had just begun. And without saying it, they both knew they would be a happily ever after. All they had to do was build it together. In the magical valley they loved and where

She murmured, “Keeping me alive…intact…just so I can work their damned stele and get Cohort blood…all over my hands. Gun to your neck…blood on my hands…saints against God.” “Don’t talk,” said Crown roughly. “You’re spouting nonsense.” “You haven’t talked sense in months.” She burbled with coughing again. “You’re the one facing the dark night of the soul, Princess.” “Love that melodrama. Is there Eighth somewhere in your family tree?” “Gave yourself up… gave all of us up…for what? Propaganda and a leash…promise of salvation without understanding the sin. Hect and the hideous Sixth House mechanism…and now they are taken too. For what? Our lives? Is this living, Corona?” “You’ve never lived a single day in your life,” said Corona bitterly. “It’d be against regulations.” The Captain said, “Name and rank: Captain Judith Deuteros. House…Second,” and Crown scrubbed at her face with her hand, little licks of hair escaping from their elastic and curling over her forehead like light. The Captain broke off and said, “You think you’re walking the tightrope with fast talking and your face…steeled myself to the talking long ago. But you’re slipping, Princess…can’t save you from that…Hect, my hands are too filthy to save you…” It was funny to think of anyone wanting to save Camilla. The Captain’s eyes passed restlessly to Nona. Sweat was beading on her temples. The Captain focused, and said hoarsely, “Ninth, where is the mercy of the Tomb? Where is your sword in the coffin? Who are your masters now, and who do you master? Where is my cavalier, Reverend Daughter? Where is yours?” Her voice rose. “Because I saw her—in the waves—she was there in the grey water—I saw them all—they hurt me—where is my hunger? I eat and eat and eat without surcease, my green thing, my green-and-breathing thing…

A Princess of the Shield is courageous. She is compassionate. She is kind, and she is disciplined. Without these four core values, a girl may have all the crowns and castles she wants, but she will no more be a princess than she will a dragon. “You must prepare for battle as any soldier would, though yours are not the weapons of the soldier. Your weapons are pure hearts and steel spines. Your weapons are already inside you. And the only way to wield them is to know yourself. Which is precisely what we will teach you here.

By some quirk of fate, I had been chosen—along with five others—as a candidate to be the next equerry to the Princess of Wales. I knew little about what an equerry actually did, but I did not greatly care. I already knew I wanted to do the job. Two years on loan to the royal household would surely be good for promotion, and even if it was not, it had to be better than slaving in the Ministry of Defense, which was the most likely alternative. I wondered what it would be like to work in a palace. Through friends and relatives I had an idea it was not all red carpets and footmen. Running the royal family must involve a lot of hard work for somebody, I realized, but not, surely, for the type of tiny cog that was all I expected to be. In the wardroom of the frigate, alongside in Loch Ewe, news of the signal summoning me to London for an interview had been greeted with predictable ribaldry and a swift expectation that I therefore owed everybody several free drinks. Doug, our quiet American on loan from the U.S. Navy, spoke for many. He observed me in skeptical silence for several minutes. Then he took a long pull at his beer, blew out his mustache, and said, “Let me get this straight. You are going to work for Princess Di?” I had to admit it sounded improbable. Anyway, I had not even been selected yet. I did not honestly think I would be. “Might work for her, Doug. Only might. There’re probably several smooth Army buggers ahead of me in the line. I’m just there to make it look democratic.” The First Lieutenant, thinking of duty rosters, was more practical. “Whatever about that, you’ve wangled a week ashore. Lucky bastard!” Everyone agreed with him, so I bought more drinks. While these were being poured, my eye fell on the portraits hanging on the bulkhead. There were the regulation official photographs of the Queen and Prince Philip, and there, surprisingly, was a distinctly nonregulation picture of the Princess of Wales, cut from an old magazine and lovingly framed by an officer long since appointed elsewhere. The picture had been hung so that it lay between the formality of the official portraits and the misty eroticism of some art prints we had never quite got around to throwing away. The symbolic link did not require the services of one of the notoriously sex-obsessed naval psychologists for interpretation. As she looked down at us in our off-duty moments the Princess represented youth, femininity, and a glamour beyond our gray steel world. She embodied the innocent vulnerability we were in extremis employed to defend. Also, being royal, she commanded the tribal loyalty our profession had valued above all else for more than a thousand years, since the days of King Alfred. In addition, as a matter of simple fact, this tasty-looking bird was our future Queen. Later, when that day in Loch Ewe felt like a relic from another lifetime, I often marveled at the Princess’s effect on military people. That unabashed loyalty symbolized by Arethusa’s portrait was typical of reactions in messhalls and barracks worldwide. Sometimes the men gave the impression that they would have died for her not because it was their duty, but because they wanted to. She really seemed worth it.

If she wanted to win, something must be done. Because she wasn't a princess, nor a mere pawn. If she wanted to win, a vicious queen she'd become.

Strength wears many faces, princess,” Gedlen said softly, yanking Aroreh out of her ever spinning thoughts. “Some mortal women choose steel and battlefield mud. Some choose compassion and kindness as their weapons. Some fight by leaning on well-sharpened intelligence. While others inspire those around them simply with their willingness to become vulnerable. There are as many examples of strength and courage as there are stars in the sky.

That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” I murmur near her mouth, “Being enemies doesn’t change the fact that you’re fucking mine.

Elsa is an addiction that first got under my skin, but is now flowing through my veins and into my bloodstream. I need to bleed out to get her out. And even then, I doubt she'd leave.

Intuition is interesting. It’s like turbulent energy slamming into a hard object. Intuition can predict that you’ll lose the battle before it starts. I don’t lose battles.

I fought it. I denied it. The time has come to embrace it. After all, it takes a monster to destroy a monster.

He bends over, grinning. “I’ll hold you to that.

Move quickly and don’t say anything,” Wesley ordered as he pushed me forward. The steel wire fence of the Death Camps rose up sharply in the light of the moon. I stopped, whirling around to face him. “How can you live with yourself, working for this army?” I asked in a trembling voice, staring deep into his eyes. “If you’re going to kill me, go ahead and do it now.” He pushed me forward. “Didn’t you hear me?” he hissed. “I said, don’t speak. Keep walking.” The moonlight fell across his angular cheekbones and lit up the dark hollows of his eyes. We had passed the camps and were now walking down the dark field toward a windowless brick building. “Where are you taking me?” I said through clenched teeth. He pulled me to a stop and began to untie the rope binding my wrists. “You’re not taking me to the camps?” My voice was filled with confusion. He took a second gun from his uniform and placed it in my palm. “Do you know how to shoot?” “Yes.” “There’s a full round in there. Don’t let go of it. If we get separated, if the Roamers get you, just shoot them. Don’t hesitate or they’ll kill you first.” I nodded mechanically and wrapped my fingers around the grip, wincing at the pain as I placed my finger experimentally on the trigger. “I’m taking you somewhere safe, but we have to go through the woods to get there,” Wesley went on. “And we need to be quiet and careful. If I’m caught helping you, we’ll both be killed.” I raised my eyes to his. I wanted to trust him, but what if this was just an elaborate trap? “Why are you helping me?” I asked. He looked toward the Death Camps in the distance. “You’re not the only person here with something to hide, Eliza.

You look like a princess. So beautiful, enchanting and stunning. Thank you for gracing me with your love.” “Thank you for forcing your way into my life, making me slow down and enjoy being worshipped. Thank you for being my superhero. I’ll be forever grateful that you picked me to love.

Zhian, is that you? I focus the words on the clay jar above Darian. The reply comes like a clap of thunder GET ME OUT OF HERE! I stumble at the force of his words, and Darian steps forward to catch me. “Wine catching up to you?” he asks, grinning. I just nod distractedly, stiffening a little when his hands slide up my arms. Zhian, I’m here to help you. GET ME OUT NOW! Darian’s hands are far too familiar, one on my back now, the other cupping my jaw. His touch is repulsive, his heartbeat erratic and too fast. I feel assaulted on all sides: by Zhian’s shouting, by the jinn clamoring, by Darian’s desire. “You really are quite pretty,” he says, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I’ve shown you something secret. Now what are you going to show me?” Steeling myself, I grasp his coat and step forward, backing him into the shelves, and around him bottles shake dangerously. “Easy,” he cautions, but his eyes brighten greedily. Our faces are just inches apart, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re a feisty one. I knew it the moment I saw you. No wonder Rahzad likes to keep you close.” “What about the princess?” I murmur, working a hand behind him as if to thread my fingers in his oiled hair. “Caspida hardly appreciates the finer pleasures in life. I, on the other hand, have a king’s appetite.” He kisses me forcefully, stepping away from the wall, and I’m barely able to grab Zhian’s jar before it’s out of reach. No bigger than my hand, it’s simple to let it slip down my sleeve. The jinn prince rages inside, but I ignore him and focus on the human trying to force his tongue down my throat. I can feel myself hovering on the very edge of the lamp’s boundary. Ripples of smoke race under my skin as I strain to keep from shifting, the effort bringing tears to my eyes. I shove Darian hard, and he shouts as he slams into the wall of bottled jinn. A few topple from their shelves, and panic springs into his eyes as he struggles to catch them all. “Bleeding gods, you whore!” he growls. “Are you mad?” “My master is probably looking for me,” I gasp. “I should go.” I turn and flee the room, letting out a soft, relieved cry as the lamp’s pull on me slackens. Darian pursues too quickly for me to shift into a more speedy form. Zhian’s jar rattling in my sleeve, I hurry through the dark crypt and up the stairs, the prince close on my heels. “Stop!” he shouts. “Or I’ll have you whipped!” Sister! Zhian cries. Set me free and I will devour the wretch!

Every girl dreams of waking up one day, a princess. Until that day kicks you in the face, wearing steel toed boots.

No! Never! I love you and only you. I will never be with anyone else. You are my whenever, Rome. I love you, not forever, but whenever! I love you whenever the wind blows, the rain pours, the sun shines, or the stars twinkle. I love you whenever we are happy or sad, whenever we are angry or content. I love you whenever I breathe. I will love you whenever it’s our time to go. I will always be yours. I love you whenever anything happens, anywhere. I love you just that hard.

She wasn’t a warrior, but she wasn’t a princess, either. She was somewhere in between, trying to figure out whether there was ice in her blood or steel in her bones.

Steel under silk

For a moment, I thought it was the end. Because that’s how the end feels like, right? It’s endless. And lonely. And cold.

Monsters are born.

To the fighters. Stay alive.

I wipe the side of his eyes where there’s a beautiful mole.

You don’t attack people without any reason. You only go after those who provoke or pose a threat to you.

Eli…” I sob. “Eli is the one who shall not be named.

For ten years, I thought I could survive without knowing my past. But there’s no future without roots.

A genuine heart-stopping smile lifts his lips. “I’ll always come back for you, sweetheart. You’re a queen, not a pawn.

Nico,” I whispered. He smiled. Steel-grey eyes settled over me. “Hello, princess.

I had no idea what she’d been going through, but clearly the furnace had burnished the steel that once had been my reckless badass of a sibling.

And you made me understand that The real triumph lay Not in being born a princess But in struggles Which had the power to transform Even the steel into silver…

Master!” At that moment, Zhu Yan was so scared, she rushed forward desperately, regardless of everything. I don’t know where the strength came from, but in that moment, she ran so fast that the distance of dozens of feet seemed to be shrunk to just a step away. At the moment of the exclamation, she had already rushed in front of the horse. At such a ghostly speed, the concubine on the horse could hardly believe her eyes: The Princess of the Red Clan, her pampered new daughter-in-law, rushed at an incredible speed, clutching the knife with her bare hands! Those soft and petite hands firmly held the blade, and blood flowed down along the steel.

Come on, Princess. Food's ready." "I'm not hungry," I replied, licking my lips and darting my eyes between the three of them. "Not for food." Kody let out a groan and scrubbed a hand over his face. Steele just threw his head back and laughed. Archer met my eyes with burning heat in his gaze. "We've got guests, Kate. Play along, and we promise it'll be worth it.

Do we like Sir Walter?" "His personality would significantly improve with a foot of steel through his heart.

You can be a fucking lunatic, and I still won’t let you go.

One day you'll dream of me as I dream of you.

Elsa is smart and has more self-preservation than anyone I know.

That’s his lack of empathy speaking. I honestly think he doesn’t know why people are emotional about things he considers trivial.

She was been the same since then.

guysssssss this is the BEST BEST part in steel princess "he treats you like i've never seen him treat anyone else" and then elsa goes, "and how's that?" and– "like he wants to shield you from the world. i don’t think you even notice it, but sometimes, he looks at you like he can’t breathe without you. and believe me, that’s not the king everyone knows" i- *dead*

The hilt was covered with the same pattern of runes and leaves, but the blade itself was simple and bare, save for a line of words that ran down its center. I am Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal. (First appearance of Cortana)

A Life of Disappointment When we reached our destination [after our wedding] I was dismayed by what I saw, so different from my home, so backward and dismal. I would escape from it as much as I could. Mama needed me still and insisted I visit her often. In the first years of my marriage, I spent more time with her than in my new home, and was glad of it. I felt I did not fit in with the small talk and mentality of the people who surrounded me. - Alice is a natural talker and her thoughts flow freely through my pen. - It did not take long for me to understand the reality of my situation and become disenchanted, but I loved Louis and made the most of it. I busied myself with unpopular activities, with work deemed unsuitable for a Princess and future Duchess, but I was a rebel by nature, and persevered with Louis' support. He was very good and eager to please me, though he did not understand me. As my rift with my Mother deepened, I got more involved in public work at home and I even met an intellectual Soulmate, someone I could discuss things I could not do with my husband. This gave me fresh energy to invest in my work, but it all came to an end. More changes were on the way. The death of Louis' Father threw more responsibilities on Our shoulders. Little did I know - she adds with a sighs - that my time, too, was running out. - I feel her distress and ask softly: What is that pains you so much, why not let it go? I wish my life had been different, but I do not regret having children, they were a joy to me. I wish I had been a man, more in command of my life. Why do I linger? What is this pain I steel feel? - she asks looking at me - I do not know, perhaps the incompleteness of that Life, unfulfilled, of what it could have been and was not. - Alice whispers, her voice dying down. [30.8.17] Princess Alice of Hesse [Married 1 July 1862]

Levi might be the talker in the family, but he’s not the king on my board.

I’m so fucking screwed over Aiden King.

Did you seriously just yank me out of Steele's bed to come and sleep with you?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest with a mocking smile. "Come on, Sunshine. You're not actually that jealous of your besties, are you?" He glared back at me, closing the space between us, then backing me up until my calves hit the edge of his bed and I sat down heavily. "Princess," he murmured with a wicked smile touching his full lips. "If that was my intention, I'd have your legs already wrapped around my face and you damn well know it.

If geography and time are the warp and weft structuring (art) history, perceptual culture is like the pile of a velvet cloth that, without altering the warp or weft of the fabric, reenchants its texture and depth. It treats Islam as the Simurgh, and objects as its feathers. Like the galleries in China full of representations futilely and obsessively trying to reconstruct the bird from its feathers, the museum is a monument to our inability to feel what we are trying to represent. And yet like the three princes seeking the hand of the Chinese princess in the gallery of creation, we can also discover through objects the spirit we can never expect to pin down in our hands. With these hopes tucked in between the warp of evidence and the weft of interpretation, this book would like to quote a certain textile from a very long time ago: I exist for pleasure; Welcome! For pleasure am I; he who beholds me sees joy and well-being. This book offers complex more than simple pleasures: its many questions diverge and converge, offering iridescence to our certainties. It puts forth the pleasure of using thought as steel wool polishing our mental acumen, enabling perception beyond predetermined realities. It may be that a barzakh exists somewhere between the secular and the sacred, a peninsula of understanding in which we enter the cave of our ghurba and become in the world but not of it. If we tread lightly with a pure heart cleansed in the mirror of curiosity and wonder, it may just open its doors a bit and let us explore the glory it holds inside.

when you live a nightmare you have to dream, or you will never make it.

I’m in that dreamy place between wakefulness and sleep when I hear his whisper in the dark. “We’ll never miss each other again, sweetheart.