Trick Natalia Jaster Quotes

Broken hearts made faults and fools of us all.

A fool is a man who believes glory can be found at the tip of a sword instead of on the tip of his tongue. That is life’s cruel trick.

The greatest courage a person can have is to love another, for there are only two outcomes. Either the love lasts, and our lives are compromised, or it doesn’t, and our lives are emptied. Either way, we suffer more than we celebrate. I’ve enjoyed suffering with you. We are a tale for campfires. That is all. That is everything.

Whoever deemed the ocean an invigorating place needed to reconsider the reality of crashing waves, sunburn, and sand wedged up into places no one should have it.

Father used to say that change took time, but he was wrong. It did not take any time at all to change me. The glimpse of a family. A beautiful tale. A child’s tears. A confession. A wound. An honest opinion. A friend’s betrayal. One parent’s death and another’s embrace. A touch—an instant slapping you with its light and jolting you back, shaken and blinking. Those quick moments were what changed people.

It’s strange how that happens, isn’t it? You forget how something looks, or smells or tastes or sounds.' 'Until it’s suddenly there again,' he agreed. 'Like it was never gone.

I’m a trinket, a servant of the Crown. I’m a riddle, a hidden agenda.

I'm loving her everywhere," I murmured. "I feel the grip of her knees on my waist. I'm watching her pitch upward, arching into me, her breasts pointed. She's digging into my shoulders as we let our hips go, her thighs catching me. I'm loving her... because I do, and have, and will.

I loved all of my son.

He stared up at me like I belonged to him, like he belonged to me. Like I made this dungeon safe.

You’re brave. You’ll get right back up and try again. It would be a shame not to, because even the birds have to risk crashing before they can fly.

A fool is a man who believes glory can be found at the tip of a sword instead of on the tip of his tongue. 'Tis a woman who judges with her eyes closed. 'Tis people who invent aberrations from speculations and rumors. 'Tis bred from ignorance. That is life's cruel trick.

Poet, do you think a melody would compliment one of you poems? I was fixing to compose one, fiddling with ideas in my head, but...would that make it a song and not a poem anymore? And I'm not saying I'll jot the tune down, but if I did, if you wanted it...that is to say, if you agreed, would that mean the poem has died? I don't want my lute to kill it, you see. Only when does a poem stop being a poem? Can it be a song, too?" He dropped his head and spoke to my boots. "Can they blend together?" If only he were truly referring to artistry.

Fascinating. I’d never made someone hate me with this much devotion. The ivory, amber, and red shades of her—innocence and fire—drew me in like a moth.

Burning hot before melting into a lovely disaster.

You’re playing a treacherous game, Princess.” The response trembled out of Briar like a small flame, one that could detonate into an inferno at any moment. “Then play it with me,” she dared.

I can feed myself.” “Please do. I’m too pretty to be doing a thankless job.

He’s my heartbeat. He’s my greatest achievement.

I debated how hard I’d have to smash into that barricade, to break through it completely. Indeed, I had a craving to find out. Whereas everyone else diluted my impulses once I’d finished targeting them, she kept stirring those impulses back to life.

I spread my arms. “At your service.” “You are despicable.” “Nonsense. You didn’t give me time to be despicable.

I am a princess,” she declared. “I can make you do whatever I command.” “From any other mouth, that would sound like a dominant-submissive kink.

I don’t care what these people think!” she snapped, her voice shaking like a leaf. “And I don’t care what you think. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am who I am. If that’s not enough, too bad.” “For someone who doesn’t care what Spring thinks of her, that’s a rather thunderous response. So eager to rage.” I cocked my head and studied her. “Your eyes, how they shout at me.

Applause. Because sometime between last night’s hall and this night’s garden, she found her nerve. And I lost mine.

You are a wordsmith, therefore a liar. I know what your tongue is capable of.” And I knew an opportunity when I heard it. I prowled forward, lowered my voice, and let the words drizzle down her skin. “Now, now,” I husked. “You haven’t begun to learn what my tongue can do.

I merely intended to return your ribbon.” “But the color goes so well with your hair.

A little someone snickered. A little someone scrambled onto my torso and tugged on my earlobe. I pretended to be asleep and was rewarded with more ear tugs. Without opening my eyes, I seized Nicu by the ribcage. “Got you!” My son chirped with glee. He lay flat atop my chest, spanning my width with his twig arms and legs. “No, I’ve got you! You’re my prisoner, Papa!” “And I surrender willingly. You have no idea, my love.

At some point, the corrupter had become the corrupted. The seducer had become the seduced.

In the dark, fed up and pent up, I couldn’t tell anymore if we were kissing or fighting. Though, I hardly gave a shit. All I cared about was making her feel it—every ounce of painful pleasure.

Protectiveness curled my knuckles. If anyone wounded her, I’d be forced to do bodily damage to them. Inflict the slightest harm to Briar, and I would tear them to shreds.

Now you’re in my head like a verse and a curse. You’re a plague and a fantasy. You’re there when I’m tossing and turning in bed, twisting the sheets into a heated mess. It’s you who I picture moaning beneath me, above me, in front of me. I’ve pumped my cock to those desires, and I’ll keep doing so until long after you leave this place. I won’t stop until you’ve drained me dry.” The humid words rose from my mouth. “I won’t stop until I’m so lost in your memory, your hand will tingle whilst I come.

A frantic, foreign type of desire shredded through me. Not only did I wish to help bathe her, to coast my fingers over her bare, wet flesh. Nay, I wanted to wash the muck from her hair, to rinse her skin until she tingled with satisfaction. I wanted to take care of her.

When the princess didn’t restrain herself, she still moved with a clunky lack of rhythm, but her awful coordination hardly mattered. For the dancing made her happy, and that happiness made her the brightest fucking thing in this garden. Enthralling woman. Hypnotized jester.

I see you. I see your resilience and strength of will. I see your determination and tenacity. I see your desire for control and your longing to dance. I see your integrity and daring, even when every other fool in a packed room fails to. I see it all, and I want it all, for you’ve bewitched me out of my wicked fucking mind.

Need something to wet your tongue, do you?” he inquired, then lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. “So do I.

I shall only say this. Had we been alone in the cottage, that night would have turned out differently. Had the princess given me a trace of permission, the counter would have been swiped of its dishes. Had she given the slightest indication, she would have been hauled off the ground—and that fucking water glass would have shattered to the floor.

Be foolish with me, Briar.

Frankly, denying your effect on me is getting old quickly.

You’re brave. You’ll get right back up and try again. It would be a shame not to, because even the birds must risk crashing before they can fly.

We’re finished talking, sweeting. So very fucking finished.” Then he grabbed my face—and his mouth slammed against mine.

You’re every bitter and euphoric feeling I have. You’re in every word I speak, every move I make. All of it is you. Whatever happens from now on, you will be my ecstasy and my downfall.

In The Dark Seasons, the gift of a ribbon symbolized a person’s esteem for someone they admired. But this didn’t feel like a gift. It seemed like a tease. Or something more dangerous—like a target.

He sang a carol about love, about many loves, about four loves. He sang about a foolish story, a dangerous story, a dishonest story, and a wishful story. He sang about a trick, and a dare, and a lie, and a dream.

Why, you wonder? That’s easy. For the life of me, I can’t stop thinking about you.

Tis not polite, touching what isn’t yours,” he cautioned. “Was the ribbon I gave you not enough? Do you want more of me?” His whisper deepened, rustling over my lips like black silk. “Careful what you ask for, Princess.

You shouldn’t tell a jester what to do.” “I am a princess,” she declared. “I can make you do whatever I command.” “From any other mouth, that would sound like a dominant-submissive kink.” “From any other mouth, it probably would be.

If she wanted a moral rival, so be it.

A fool is a man who believes glory can be found at the tip of a sword instead of on the tip of his tongue. ’Tis a person who judges with their eyes closed. ’Tis people who invent aberrations from speculation and rumors. ’Tis bred from ignorance. That is life’s cruel trick.

For this desire felt honest and difficult, this privilege temporary. It stripped away what I’d previously known of seduction. This was me, the jester. This was me, wanting her. This was wanting.