Wash Your Lashes Quotes

Why do we say hello on Sunday mornings with the same tongues we use to lash others behind their backs a few days later?

But then, I daresay that tearing down other women is usually based on something no less frivolous than the insecurities of our fourteen-year-old selves. Why do we do it, ladies? Why do we gossip? Why do we rag on each other? Why do we say hello on Sunday mornings with the same tongues we use to lash others behind their backs a few days later? Does it make us feel better about ourselves? Does it make us feel safer to mock someone who has stepped outside of the parameters we deem acceptable? If we can point out their flaws, does doing so diminish our own? Of course it doesn’t. In fact, the stones we most often try and fling at others are the ones that have been thrown at us.

You are insufferable sometimes. You're not doing me, or yourself, any favors by pretending not to mind when you get hurt. I would have slapped you harder if I didn't know the truth--if I didn't know that you would just blush and bat your lashes as someone tied a tourniquet around your thigh and prepared to saw your leg off. Do you know why the worst thing Papa has ever done to me is push me to my knees? Because I wail and the scream and beat his chest with my fists whenever he tries to do anything more than bark orders at me from the chaise. You think he wants some mute little china doll to cook his meals and wash his sheets? No. He wants daughters with teeth. The hurting is the point. I can't believe it's taken you twenty-three years to figure out--if you even understand what I'm saying at all. It's no fun stamping through old dirty snow. People want to ruin things that are clean and new... He can't stand the idea of anyone spoiling us but him.

Her uneasy gaze skittered along the length of his arms, which were exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves... and stopped at the astonishing sight of a design that had been inked onto his right forearm. It was a small black horse with wings. Noticing her mesmerized stare, Rohan lowered his arm to give her a better view. "An Irish symbol," he murmured. "A nightmare horse, called a pooka." The absurd-sounding word brought a faint smile to Daisy's lips. "Does it wash off?" she asked hesitantly. He shook his head, his lashes half lowering over his remarkable eyes. "Is a pooka like the Pegasus of the Greek myths?" Daisy asked, flattening herself as close to the wall as possible. Rohan glanced down her body, taking a kind of leisurely inventory that no man ever had before. "No. He's far more dangerous. He has eyes of yellow fire, a stride that clears mountains, and he speaks in a human voice as deep as a cave. At midnight, he may stop in front of your house and call out your name if he wants to take you for a ride. If you go with him, he'll fly you across earth and oceans... and if you ever return, your life will never be the same.

Ansel let out a breathy chuckle, the air warm on Celaena’s hands as they hovered near her face. She kept quiet while Celaena finished with the powder, then held still as she lined her eyes with kohl and darkened her lashes. “All right,” Celaena said, sitting back so she could see Ansel’s face. “Open.” Ansel opened her eyes, and Celaena frowned. “What?” Ansel said. Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.” “Why?” “Because you look better than I do.

You grow sleepy,cara mia," Julian whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehea. "We should go to your brother's chamber. I will check him once more before we go to ground." Desari refused to open her eyes. She made a soft purring sound, completely contented to lie in his arms. "Not yet, Julian," she protested softly. "I do not want to leave this place for a little while longer." "I can feel how tired you are, my love. I can do no other than-" "Do not say it!" Deasri thumped his chest. "Just lie there and hold me. That is what I want. Men are such difficult creatures,Julian. I am beginning to realize this." He rubbed his chin on the top of her head, her hair catching in the shadow along his jaw. "Men are not difficult. They are logical and methodical." She laughed softly. "You wish it wree so. I must tell you,although I am taking a huge cance that you might become impossible to live with, tha you are an extraordinary lover." "Keep talking,lifemate. I am listening," he responded with a deep satisfaction. "Magnificent was only a starting place. Extraordinary lover is the perfect description. I see that now." Her soft laughter washed over him, as gentle as a breeze. Touching him. Just like that. She could touch him with her breath. Julian wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her ebony hair. "Why is it you always smell so good?" "Would you want me to smell like a cavewoman?" "I do not know,cara. I do not know what a cavewoman smells like." She opened her eyes at that, her long lashes fluttering in the sexy,flirty little way she had. "You'd better not want me smelling like any other, Julian, or you will find out what a real ancient woman can do when she is enraged.

Mikhail’s hands were gentle as he helped her to lie down. He caressed her silky hair, bent to kiss her tenderly. “You have no idea what you did for me tonight. Thank you, Raven.” Her eyes were closed, lashes lying like two dark crescents against her soft skin. She smiled. “Someone has to show you what love is, Mikhail. Not possession or ownership, but real unconditional love.” Her hand rose, and even with her eyes closed, her fingertips unerringly found the lines around his mouth. “You need to remember how to play, to laugh. You need to learn to like yourself more.” The hard edges of his mouth softened, curved. “You sound like the priest.” “I hope you confessed that you took advantage of me,” she teased. Mikhail’s breath caught in his throat. Guilt washed over him. He had taken advantage. Maybe not the first time, when he was so out of control after such isolation. It had been necessary to make the exchange to save her life. But the second time had been pure selfishness. He had wanted the sexual rush, the total completion of the ritual. And he had uttered the ritual words. They were bound. He knew it, felt the rightness of it, felt the healing in his soul only a true lifemate could effect. “Mikhail? I was teasing you.” The long lashes fluttered, lifted so her eyes could confirm what her fingertips tracing his frown told her. His teeth caught her finger, his tongue stroking over her skin. His mouth was hot, erotic, his eyes burning down at her. Answering heat leapt into her eyes. Raven laughed softly. “You have it all, don’t you? Charm, you’re so sexy you should be locked up, and you have a smile men would kill for. Or women, however you want to look at it.” He bent to kiss her, one hand closing over her breast possessively. “You need to mention what a great lover I am. Men need to hear these things.” “Really?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t dare. You’re already as arrogant as I can stand.” “You are crazy about me. I know. I read minds.” He suddenly grinned mischievously, like a little boy.

I’m sorry, I should have realized you’d be hungry. If you let me give you intravenous fluids, it would help.” The moment she put the glass down, she retreated to her computer desk. He ignored her comment. Why do you not feed? The question was asked casually, curiously. His black eyes were thoughtful as he studied her. From her position of safety across the room, Shea watched him. The weight of his gaze alone broke her concentration, took her breath away. She was feeling far too possessive of this patient. She had no right to tangle her life around his. It was frightening that she was reacting so uncharacteristically to him. She had always felt aloof, remote, detached from people and things around her. Her analytical mind simply computed facts. But right now, she could think only of him, his pain and suffering, the way his eyes watched her, half-closed, sexy. Shea nearly jumped out of her skin. Where had that thought come from? Knowing she wouldn’t want to think he was reading her mind at that precise moment, Jacques did the gentlemanly thing and pretended merely a casual interest. It was nice to know she found him sexy. Smugly he lay back with his eyes closed, long lashes dark against his washed-out complexion. Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, Shea felt as though he witnessed every move she made. “You rest while I shower and change my clothes.” Her hands went to her hair in a futile effort to tidy the wild thickness of it. His eyes remained closed, his breathing relaxed. I can feel your hunger, your need for blood nearly as great as my own. Why would you attempt to hide this from me? With sudden insight he let out his breath. Or is it that you are hiding from your own needs? That is it--you do not realize it is your hunger, your need. The gentleness in his flooded her body with unexpected heat. Furious that he could be right, she stalked into the bathroom, shrugged off her robe, and allowed the warm shower to cascade over her head. His laughter was low and taunting. You think to escape me, little red hair? I live in you as you live in me. Shea gasped, whirled around, grabbed frantically for a towel. It took a moment to realize he was still in the other room.

Thomas glanced back at the stairs, excited nerves leaping in his stomach. “Is Eliza coming?” After the words escaped his mouth he realized how comical he sounded. Of course she was coming. “I mean to say, is Eliza ready?” A wide grin washed over Kitty’s face, as if she were hiding something. “She’ll be down shortly.” Thomas nodded and rested his fidgety hands on the back of the embroidered chair. Nathaniel led Kitty to the other seat and helped her to sit. At that moment, the dainty tap of Eliza’s shoes on the stairs forced Thomas to whirl around. Nathaniel came up behind him. “Steady, boy.” Thomas clenched his jaw to keep it from gaping and dropped his hands to his sides. His eyes traced Eliza’s dainty form. She was even more radiant in that gown than he’d imagined and her face glittered with the most magnificent smile he’d ever seen. The fitted gown accentuated her perfect curves and impossibly tiny waist. The white lace around the neckline tickled her creamy skin, while the dusty-pink color drew out the rosy nature of her cheeks and lips. He tried, but he couldn’t stop staring. Her hair was curled like Kitty’s and wrapped with a delicate ribbon that matched the color of her gown. Her creamy complexion and the velvety look of her long neck were so enticing he had to fight the sudden urge to taste it. Eliza curtsied low and dipped her head. Upon rising she lifted her lashes and spoke to him in a tantalizing timbre. “Good evening, Thomas.” Thomas’s heart beat with such profound strength, it ripped every word from his mind. He wanted to say how beautiful she was. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for keeping his distance when she needed him. Even more than that, he wanted to move his face near hers, and inhale her graceful rose scent deep into his lungs before tasting her lips once again. Every appropriate response fled his mind as his blood raced around his body. He bowed. “Good evening, Eliza.” “Do my eyes deceive me?” Nathaniel, back to his charismatic self, pushed Thomas aside and kissed Eliza’s hand as he bowed with dramatic flare. “You are even more alluring than Aphrodite herself, my dear.” Eliza smiled again and giggled low in her throat. “You are too generous, Doctor.” “I am too enamored. You and your sister shine like the stars themselves.” A hearty grin flashed across his proud face. “Shall we go in to dinner?” He took his place beside Kitty and sent a flashing glance to Thomas, no doubt intended to instruct him to make the most of the moment. Thomas could kill himself. Good evening? That’s all he could say? Eliza’s body faced away from him, but she turned in his direction and the rest of her followed, her gown sweeping across the floor. Thomas closed the space between them, offering his arm. “Shall we go in?” Her slender hand grasped his arm. “You look very nice this evening, Thomas.” Thomas’s tongue dried up in his mouth, shriveling his ability to speak. He could never compete with Nathaniel’s theatrical praises. He’d have to just say what he thought. “You’re a vision, Eliza.” Her

Do you deny that your song says your yellow-hair must come to you? You took me home and taught me how to walk back to you in your footsteps!” Her voice rose, turning shrill. “You gave me a fine horse to ride! Do you deny that?” Confusion welled inside him. “You are angry because I teach you and give you gifts?” At last she wrenched her head around, her tear-filled eyes sparkling with contempt. “Like your medallion? ‘Wear it for always,’ you said. But it wasn’t as a remembrance! It was to mark me, so your filthy friend Santos wouldn’t steal the wrong yellow-hair. You knew how much I love Amy. You struck where I was most vulnerable, knowing I’d do anything to save her. I trusted you. You spoke of songs in our hearts and remembering for always. And I--” Her voice broke and trailed off into a squeak. For a moment he thought she might strike him, so deep went her pain, but then her face crumpled and the fight drained from her. She looked so forsaken, so frightened, that all he wanted was to hold her and soothe away her hurts. “I believed you, Hunter. Do you know how difficult that was for me? After what Comanches did to my parents? I betrayed their memory, trusting you. I turned my back on everything.” Hunter’s heart caught at the bruised, aching intensity he heard in her voice. Two large tears slipped over her bottom lashes and washed onto her cheeks, trailing in silver ribbons to her chin. He ran his hand into her cloud of tangled hair and drew her toward him, ignoring her resistance, pressing her face into the curve of his neck. She lay rigid against him, shaking violently. He dipped his head, the last traces of his anger dying.

Whoa,” I murmured, trying to calm the animal enough to set it loose, not wanting it to come to harm. I gripped the reins, but the horse, its eyes wild with fear, snapped its head back, catching my hand in the leather strap, and I inhaled sharply from the sting. How long had the poor thing been out here? My senses on full alert, I glanced behind me at the busy street, weighing my options. Seeing no one, I hoisted up my skirt, and unsheathed the dagger I had kept. The instant I cut the reins, the horse bolted past me, almost knocking me over. Its owner would not be happy, but at least the animal would live to see another day. It wasn’t until someone clamped an arm around my waist, seizing the knife, that I realized I was no longer alone. So much for having reliable senses. “Well, aren’t you just incorrigible?” Imprisonment or execution was the punishment for bearing weapons in this new Hytanica. The dagger itself was a small loss, but I had to get away. I brought my elbow back, my mother’s reluctance to let me leave the house flashing like lightning in my brain. If I were arrested, killed, she would never forgive herself, even though she would bear no fault. “Empress, the bruises you’ve given me are too many to count!” I whirled around, dismayed that I had not succeeded in getting the Cokyrian to release me, at the same time recognizing the voice and the curse. Saadi pushed me against the side of the shop, leaning in so close to me that I could feel his breath upon my cheek, and his pale blue eyes stared me into submission. “I can’t call you a horse thief for what you just did,” he told me, glancing after the gelding. “At least, not a very good horse thief. But I can, and I must, bring you in for this little utensil of yours. Some niece of the captain you are.” “Are you going to take me to your sister?” I spat, and he grimaced, contemplating me for an instant before disregarding the barb. Gripping me by the upper arm, he hauled me toward the thoroughfare. “Come on. To the Bastion.” Though my question about Rava appeared to have had its intended effect, I was numb with fear. What if he did take me to her? Rava had been the one to order me lashed for my failed prank, she’d been the one to inflict punishment upon Steldor. It seemed no one could exert control over her, a thought that made me ill. The nearer we came to our destination, the more rapidly my heart beat, and by the time we reached the palace gates, I was again fighting Saadi. “Let…me…go!” I howled, unexpectedly pulling out of his grasp, but one of the Cokyrian sentries caught me, laughing at my plight. “Need some help, Saadi?” the burly man offered, shoving me back at my captor, who was rather slight in comparison to his comrade. “No,” Saadi grumbled and the sentry moved ahead to open the gates for us. As we passed through, the large man called, “Rava is at the city headquarters, minding the peacekeeping force. If you were looking for her, that is.” “I wasn’t.” Even though my circumstances were inarguably bleak, a wave of relief washed over me. She, at least, would not be the one to show me the error of my ways.

Good. That's enough,” Deme said. “You may sit down.” Marus remained where he was, face now almost the colour of his robes, and a snarl forming on his lips. Ebryn felt the flow of force, gathering in towards Marus, the first lightning flickers forming around his hands. “That's enough — sit down,” Deme said again. This time the words came from her mouth like a lash, raw with power, and Marus rocked backwards as if struck. The force of her casting washed over the room like a dousing of ice water. Marus returned to his seat like a drunken man, tripping over the feet of fellow students, and lurching from side to side. “So, who understands what I did there?” Deme asked, moving around the floor again. “No? I used the deeper craft to control another's casting. Once you can do this, the inner nature of what we do is revealed to you, and you have achieved the beginning of mastery. “Much of what we will explore in these lessons is about improvement of your craft. So we learn what is common to all casting, not methods specific to any of the orders. Do you understand?” Deme stood in the middle of the room, looking around the chamber, at the rows of faces. “So, let us begin with a few simple mind exercises.

Weren’t you fucking somebody else last week, Friday?” I blurt out. I want to take it back immediately because it hangs there in the air between us like a bomb about to explode. “What?” she asks, and her voice goes soft. “Last week it was a different guy who took you to lunch.” I grumble to myself and get up, pretending to clean the counter. She thinks it over. “You mean Cody?” “How many are there?” She blinks hard. What the fuck? Friday never cries. Ever. I take a step toward her, and she steps back, putting her hand up like she’s going to push the air around me back. “How dare you?” she breathes. A tear falls over her lashes, and she swipes it away and then looks down at the back of her wet hand like she doesn’t know what the fuck a tear is. “Friday,” I say. I step toward her again. I soften my voice because I have no idea what to do. I have never seen this Friday before. I have only seen the one who can eat my balls for lunch. Hell, she’ll feed my balls to me if I piss her off enough. And make me like it. Four years and I have never seen her shed a tear. She turns around and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I lean my ear against the door and listen, but I can’t hear anything over the sound of the fan. I knock. She doesn’t answer. “Dammit,” I swear. I lean my forehead against the door. “Leave her alone,” I hear from behind me. I turn around because Logan is talking. “I can’t,” I say to him. I knock again, but she doesn’t answer. “Just leave her the fuck alone,” he says again. He’s pissed, I can tell. “You have a client.” He waves toward my customer like he’s Vanna Fucking White. “Work to do. So, you might want to get to it.” I heave a sigh and look at my client. “Just a moment,” I say. “Take your time,” he says with a grin. He’s loving the show, apparently. I pull my keys from my pocket and fit the key in the lock. I hesitate long enough for Logan to notice. “You shouldn’t,” he warns. I know I shouldn’t, but I am. I turn the key and let myself into the room. I find Friday washing her face. “What the fuck, Paul!” she cries. She turns back to the mirror and dabs beneath her eyes. She looks at me in the mirror. “Get out.” I close the door behind me and lean against it. “Why are you crying?” “I don’t know,” she bites out. But another tear slides down her cheek. “Fucking hormones,” she says as she swipes it away. All this because she has her period? I know better than to say that out loud. “Oh,” I say instead. She turns to face me, hitching her hip against the sink. She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, which pushes them up and makes little pillows over the top of that low-cut dress she’s wearing. My God. I look up at her face. She smirks at me. I like a smirking Friday a lot better than one who’s crying because I don’t know what do with tears. Not from her. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I blurt out when she just glares at me. “Yes, you did.” “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did.

You've been keeping in touch with the reporter?" "He came by the diner the other day. And that reminds me, you told me he was a by-the-book detective. Calhoun has evidence to the contrary." He squared his shoulders and faced me head-on. Betsy was pushed out of the middle. "What are you implying?" he spat. "Hey, y'all," Betsy interjected. "I'm not implying anything. I just want to know if you still think Detective Thornton is a pristine detective." "Do you always believe everything people tell you?" Alex's jaw clenched. "No." I bared my teeth. If he wanted a fight, he'd certainly get one! He took a step closer to me. "You believe the reporter?" I jerked my head. His neck was corded and his arms tensed. Boy, was he angry. "Some asshole floats into town with tall tales, dangling bait in front of your pretty little face, and you just bite? You've known him for two damn seconds. Me, you've known your whole damn life." "Um... y'all," Betsy said louder. "Where is all this anger comin' from?" I shrieked. "Somebody is going around murdering people. And since the department had to march to the tune of a crooked cop, I felt I had to do something." That was a grave allegation I honestly didn't believe. He had ruffled my feathers and I was lashing out. "And your keen investigative skills led you to believe I was dirty? Perhaps you think I'm the one going around killing people?" His voice teetered on unhinged. "Don't be stupid," I said, more calmly. He felt patronized, that was beyond obvious. Guilt washed over me like a tidal wave and I was searching for the appropriate words to apologize effectively, when he said, "What's with you and older men? Daddy issues?" I gasped. "How dare you?" That was the ugliest thing he could have ever said in this moment. And he'd said it. His facial expression changed, and he took a step forward. I took one backward. Eddie's commanding voice boomed, "Enough." "I tried to warn y'all," Betsy said softly.

And you chose Machiavelli?” He chuckles, considering me from beneath the long curl of his lashes. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” “You know much about him?” He pulls his T-shirt up from the hem, and my heart pops an artery or something because it shouldn’t be working this hard while at rest. I swallow hard at the layer of muscle wrapped around his ribs. One pectoral muscle peeks from under the shirt, tipped with the dark disc of his nipple. My mouth literally waters, and I can’t think beyond pulling it between my lips and suckling him. Hard. “Do you see it?” he asks. “Huh?” I reluctantly drag my eyes from the ladder of velvet- covered muscle and sinew to the expectant look on his face. “See what?” “The tattoo.” He runs a finger over the ink scrawled across his ribs. Makavelli. “I hate to break it to you,” I say with a smirk. “But someone stuck you with a permanent typo.” He laughs, dropping the shirt, which is really a shame because I was just learning to breathe with all that masculine beauty on display. “Bristol, stop playing. You know it’s on purpose, right?” “Oh, sure, it is, Grip.” I roll my eyes. “Nice try.” “Are you serious?” He looks at me like I’m from outer space. “You know that’s how Tupac referred to himself on his posthumous album, right? That he misspelled it on purpose?” I clear my throat and scratch at an imaginary itch on the back of my neck. “Um … yes?” His warm laughter at my expense washes over me, and it’s worth being the butt of the joke, because I get to see his face animated. He’s even more handsome when he laughs. “You’re funny.” He laughs again, more softly this time. “I didn’t expect that.

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