“The act of keeping the secret a secret has almost become bigger than the secret itself.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“To be a writer, to be a good writer, you need courage. You need to be prepared to expose yourself.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“It is extraordinary how much strength anger gives one.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“He cried, and she cried too but their tears were travelling in parallel lines. It was too late. They should have cried together years ago.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“All she is sure about is that she needs to be alone.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“If anyone was capable of understanding how someone else felt, it was Nancy. There weren't as many layers between her and the world as there were with the rest of us. She had that rare ability of being able to stand in someone else's shoes and get inside their skin.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“There weren't as many layers between her and the world as there were with the rest of us.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“An image from one of the photographs comes back to him. He tries to push it away and focus on the present, but he sees the past.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“my toenails have grown long. They are curling at the ends, confused about which direction they should be going in. Hard, like bone. I bite my fingernails to keep them short, spitting them out and leaving them where they stick, brittle and sharp around my desk. I am not a bloody circus performer, though: I can’t do the same with my toenails. Besides, I suspect my teeth wouldn’t be up to the job.”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
“To be a writer, to be a good writer, you need courage. You need to be prepared to expose yourself. You must be brave,”
― Renée Knight, quote from Disclaimer
Renée Knight
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“So, my dear…”
She faced him with thudding heart, the crystal piece clutched desperately in her hand, but she was hardly aware that she even held it.
“… You say I have let another man into my bed.”
Erienne opened her mouth to speak. Her first impulse was to chatter some inanity that could magically take the edge from his callous half statement, half question. No great enlightenment dawned, however, and her dry, parched throat issued no sound of its own. She inspected the stopper closely, turning it slowly in her hand rather than meet the accusing stare.
From behind the mask, Lord Saxton observed his wife closely, well aware that the next moments would form the basis for the rest of his life or leave it an empty husk. After this, there could be no turning back.
“I think, my dear,” his words made her start, “that whatever the cost, ’tis time you met the beast of Saxton Hall.”
Erienne swallowed hard and clasped the stopper with whitened knuckles, as if to draw some bit of courage from the crystal piece.
As she watched, Lord Saxton doffed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and she wondered if it was a trick of her imagination that he seemed somewhat lighter of frame. After their removal, he caught the heel of his right boot over the toe of the left and slowly drew the heavy, misshapen encumbrance from his foot. She frowned in open bemusement, unable to detect a flaw. He flexed the leg a moment before slipping off the other boot. His movements seemed pained as he shed the gloves, and Erienne’s eyes fastened on the long, tan, unscarred hands that rose to the mask and, with deliberate movements, flipped the lacings loose. She half turned, dropping the stopper and colliding with the desk as he reached to the other side of the leather helm and lifted it away with a single motion.
She braved a quick glance and gasped in astonishment when she found translucent eyes calmly smiling at her.
“Christopher! What…?”
She could not form a question, though her mind raced in a frantic search for logic. He rose from the chair with an effort.
“Christopher Stuart Saxton, lord of Saxton Hall.”
His voice no longer bore a hint of a rasp. “Your servant, my lady.”
“But… but where is…?”
The truth was only just beginning to dawn on her, and the name she spoke sounded small and thin.
“… Stuart?”
“One and the same, madam.”
He stepped near, and those translucent eyes commanded her attention.
“Look at me, Erienne. Look very closely.”
He towered over her, and his lean, hard face bore no hint of humor.
“And tell me again if you think I would ever allow another man in your bed while I yet breathe.”
-Christopher & Erienne”
― Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, quote from A Rose in Winter
“No, see the slide’s too high. He could fall and get a concussion. (Wulf)
Forget that. He could rack himself on the teeter-totter. (Chris)
Teeter-totter nothing. The swings are a choking hazard. Whose idea was it for him to have this? (Urian)”
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, quote from Kiss of the Night
“Passion is of the nature of seed, and finds nourishment within, tending to a predominance which determines all currents towards itself, and makes the whole life its tributary.”
― George Eliot, quote from Daniel Deronda
“ Christmas Amnesty. You can fall out of contact with a friend, fail to return calls, ignore e-mails, avoid eye contact at the Thrifty-Mart, forget birthdays, anniversaries, and reunions, and if you show up at their house during the holidays (with a gift) they are socially bound to forgive you—act like nothing happened. Decorum dictates that the friendship move forward from that point, without guilt or recrimination. If you started a chess game ten years ago in October, you need only remember whose move it is—or why you sold the chessboard and bought an Xbox in the interim. (Look, Christmas Amnesty is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a dimensional shift. The laws of time and space continue to apply, even if you have been avoiding your friends. But don’t try using the expansion of the universe an as excuse—like you kept meaning to stop by, but their house kept getting farther away. That crap won’t wash. Just say, “Sorry I haven’t called. Merry Christmas” Then show the present. Christmas Amnesty protocol dictates that your friend say, “That’s okay,” and let you in without further comment. This is the way it has always been done.)”
― Christopher Moore, quote from The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror
“Trust you? Good God, of course I trust you. It's you who won't trust me, you damned little fool.'" He laughed silently, and bent down to her, putting his arms round her, and he kissed her then as he had kissed her in Launceston, but deliberately now, with anger and exasperation. "Play your own game by yourself, then, and leave me to play mine," he told her. 'If you must be a boy, I can't stop you, but for the sake of your face, which I have kissed, and shall kiss again, keep away from danger.”
― Daphne du Maurier, quote from Jamaica Inn
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