Quotes from Frostfire

Amanda Hocking ·  321 pages

Rating: (11.9K votes)


“Remember my name. Because I'm going to be the one who kills you.”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


“Before when we were talking, were you asking why her?" The aurora above us reflected on his face, and his dark eyes were filled with heat. "Or were you asking why not you?”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


“I love it when you talk clean to me, quoting training manuals like sonnets.”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


“I'll always have your back,” Ridley said with a wry smile. “Or any part of your body.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled despite myself. “Way to ruin a perfectly nice moment, Ridley.”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


“You don‟t need that on your conscience.”
“His death I could handle. It's his life that I don‟t need weighing on me.”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire



“He smelled of cold. Like ice and snow on the harshest days of winter.”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


“Justice? Does that mean you'll drag them back here? Or are you going to kill them all?”
― Amanda Hocking, quote from Frostfire


About the author

Amanda Hocking
Born place: in Austin, Minnesota, The United States
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“Naomi Misora, are you familiar with the murder investigation going in Los Angeles as we speak?"
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He'd returned her sarcasm with a boast.”
― NisiOisiN, quote from Death Note: Another Note - The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases


“She could envision Shakespeare's sister. But she imagined a violent, an apocalyptic end for Shakespeare's sister, whereas I know that isn't what happened. You see, it isn't necessary. I know that lots of Chinese women, given in marriage to men they abhorred and lives they despised, killed themselves by throwing themselves down the family well. I'm not saying it doesn't happen. I'm only saying that isn't what usually happens. It it were, we wouldn't be having a population problem. And there are so much easier ways to destroy a woman. You don't have to rape or kill her; you don't even have to beat her. You can just marry her. You don't even have to do that. You can just let her work in your office for thirty-five dollars a week. Shakespeare's sister did...follow her brother to London, but she never got there. She was raped the first night out, and bleeding and inwardly wounded, she stumbled for shelter into the next village she found. Realizing before too long that she was pregnant, she sought a way to keep herself and her child safe. She found some guy with the hots for her, realized he was credulous, and screwed him. When she announced her pregnancy to him, a couple months later, he dutifully married her. The child, born a bit early, makes him suspicious: they fight, he beats her, but in the end he submits. Because there is something in the situation that pleases him: he has all the comforts of home including something Mother didn't provide, and if he has to put up with a screaming kid he isn't sure is his, he feels now like one of the boys down at the village pub, none of whom is sure they are the children of the fathers or the fathers of their children. But Shakespeare's sister has learned the lesson all women learn: men are the ultimate enemy. At the same time she knows she cannot get along in the world without one. So she uses her genius, the genius she might have used to make plays and poems with, in speaking, not writing. She handles the man with language: she carps, cajoles, teases, seduces, calculates, and controls this creature to whom God saw fit to give power over her, this hulking idiot whom she despises because he is dense and fears because he can do her harm.
So much for the natural relation between the sexes.
But you see, he doesn't have to beat her much, he surely doesn't have to kill her: if he did, he'd lose his maidservant. The pounds and pence by themselves are a great weapon. They matter to men, of course, but they matter more to women, although their labor is generally unpaid. Because women, even unmarried ones, are required to do the same kind of labor regardless of their training or inclinations, and they can't get away from it without those glittering pounds and pence. Years spent scraping shit out of diapers with a kitchen knife, finding places where string beans are two cents less a pound, intelligence in figuring the most efficient, least time-consuming way to iron men's white shirts or to wash and wax the kitchen floor or take care of the house and kids and work at the same time and save money, hiding it from the boozer so the kid can go to college -- these not only take energy and courage and mind, but they may constitute the very essence of a life.
They may, you say wearily, but who's interested?...Truthfully, I hate these grimy details as much as you do....They are always there in the back ground, like Time's winged chariot. But grimy details are not in the background of the lives of most women; they are the entire surface.”
― Marilyn French, quote from The Women's Room


“Oh, yes! Fill the churches with dirty thoughts! Introduce honesty to the White House! Write letters in dead languages to people you've never met! Paint filthy words on the foreheads of children! Burn your credit cards and wear high heels! Asylum doors stand open! Fill the suburbs with murder and rape! Divine madness! Let there be ecstasy, ecstasy in the streets! Laugh and the world laughs with you!”
― Grant Morrison, quote from Batman: Arkham Asylum - A Serious House on Serious Earth


“Now, the scene you just saw," I began, pointing to the stage.
"Was about you and T.C.," he concluded, nodding like he already knew.
"What??"
"She pretends she doesn't like him and he pretends he doesn't care."
I had no handy rebuttal to that particular allegation and wouldn't have been able to come up with one if I'd been given a week's notice. So I countered with the only safe reply I could think of.
"The toilet is not working properly.”
― Steve Kluger, quote from My Most Excellent Year


“You know she made me a list, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“A list. Chelsea made me a list of questions to ask Mike.”
Violet laughed, pulling herself up. It was too ridiculous to believe. But it was Chelsea, so of course it was true.
“What did you do with it? You didn’t give it to him, did you?” Violet asked, her eyes wide with shock.
Jay sat up too and grinned, and Violet was sure that he had. And then he shook his head. “Nah. I told her if she really wanted the answers, she’d have to give it to him herself.”
Violet relaxed back into the couch. “Did she?”
Jay shrugged. “I dunno. You never know with Chelsea.” He leaned forward, watching Violet closely as he ran his thumb down the side of her cheek. “Anyway,” he said, switching the subject, “I get off work at six tomorrow; maybe we can hook up after that.” He moved closer, grinning. “And you can tell me how much you missed me.”
He kissed her, at first quickly. Then the kiss deepened, and she heard him groan. This time, when he pulled back, there was indecision in his eyes.
Violet wanted to say something sarcastic and sharp-witted to lighten the mood, but with Jay staring at her like that, any hope of finding a clever response was lost. She could feel herself disappearing into the depths of that uncertain look.”
― Kimberly Derting, quote from Desires of the Dead


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