“Look at that punk Jennifer is with. Notice a resemblance dad? He's a fucking prick like you. Bossing her around, treating her like a possession rather than a fucking treasure!" I yelled. "Because you showed her what kind of man to look for, didn't you dad!”
“He is beautiful. He is goddamn perfect." She stepped closer to him and I tensed. "And you will not hurt him anymore. Not one of you. Because I am his protector. His rear guard. I am his.”
“I, Lucian Bane… do solemnly promise Tara Reese…. To always be her rear guard…to protect her…. make her laugh out loud…. Beat a motherfucker into the ground for looking at her." I wiped the tears from her cheeks.”
“Not my business, I guess. I teach you what I know, He shows you what to do with it. Bane, you don’t need me to mediate nothing with Him. He’ll establish direct connections with you the same way He has with me.”
“Yeah, you feeling that Bane? He’s here. Ready when you are.” I swallowed, my palms suddenly sweating. Ready for what? What did He want with me, want to do with me? Why me, what had I done? Was this penance for my sins? How was I supposed to do anybody any good if I had no idea what goodness actually was, how was I not as lost as the next person? Be still.”
“One hand smothered her laughter in unconscious effort to keep from advertising our presence more than necessary. “It is too. Who’d have imagine big, bad Lucian Bane is afraid of spiders.”
“One thing I’d come to learn as a Dom was sometimes submitting was the greater and smarter thing to do. “Clear here.”
“the Maori and their haka. It is death. It is death, they chant. To terrify, to petrify.”
“Mother was like this sometimes. Conversations became riddles with traps in them, and your answers had consequences.”
“We live only in the present, in this fleet-footed moment. The rest is lost and behind us, or ahead of us and may never be found. Little of life we know, little the plot of earth on which we dwell, little the memory of even the most famous who have lived, and this memory itself is preserved by generations of little men, who know little about themselves and far less about those who died long ago. (Book 3, Verse 10)”
“Do you believe in God, Doctor?” My question took him by surprise. He stopped suddenly, wrinkling his forehead. “Yes,” he answered. “But not in the operating room. There I only count on myself.” His eyes looked deeper. He added, “On myself and on the patient. Or, if you prefer, on the life in the diseased flesh. Life wants to live. Life wants to go on. It is opposed to death. It fights. The patient is my ally. He fights on my side. Together we are stronger than the enemy. Take the boy last night. He didn’t accept death. He helped me to win the battle. He was holding on, clinging. He was asleep, anesthetized, and yet he was taking part in the fight…” Still motionless, he”
“My life has become a single, ongoing revelation that I haven’t been cynical enough.” At”
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