Obsidian Butterfly

one of the good things about being a woman is that my level of testosterone poisoning is lower than most men's.

What is it about her that is so goddamned special?

either you're a whore, or you think I am. The first I'm willing to believe. The second I know isn't true.

I hate women who complain about being fat when they're like a size 5. Anything under size 5 isn't a woman. It's a boy with breasts.

Put any woman in an area run mostly by men and rumors will fly. Unless you make it very clear that you are off limits, there is also a certain competitiveness that sets in. Some men are either trying to run you out of town or get into your pants. They don't seem to know any other way to deal with a woman. If you're not a sexual object, you're a threat.

If you can't impress yourself, then no one else really matters.

Edward glanced at me, then back at Olaf. "The Greeks believed that once there were no male and female, that all souls were one. Then the souls were torn apart, male and female. The Greeks thought that when you found the other half of your soul, your soul mate, that it would be your perfect lover. But I think if you find your other half, you would be too much alike to be lovers, but you would still be soul mates.

Better to assume the worst and be wrong than assume the best and be wrong.

I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so I resorted to humor, my shield of last resort. 'Just please tell me they don't have a dog and a picket fence.' He smiled. 'No fence, but a dog, two dogs.' 'What kind of dogs?' I asked. He smiled and glanced at me, wanting to see my reaction. 'Maltese. Their names are Peeka and Boo.' 'Oh, shit, Edward, you're joking me.' 'Donna wants the dogs included in the engagement pictures.' I stared at him, and the look on my face seemed to amuse him. He laughed. 'I'm glad you're here, Anita, because I don't know a single other person who I'd have admitted this to.

If you only believe when it's easy, you don't really believe.

Anything under size five isn't a woman. It's a boy with breasts.

If I wanted death, Edward would give it to me. Because we both understand that it isn't death that we fear. It's living.

If you're dressed for my funeral, it's too casual. If it's just street clothes, then you must be scaring the tourists.

Just what I needed—a necromancer with an attitude. Oh, wait, I was a necromancer with an attitude.

There is some comfort in killing that which has hurt you, but it is cold comfort. It'll destroy things inside of you that the original pain wouldn't have harmed. Sometimes it's not a question of whether a piece of your soul is going to go missing, only which piece it's going to be.

If the eyes are the window to the soul, then Edward's in trouble 'cause no one is home.

Confidence is a fine trait. Over-confidence isn't.

who is the love of my life? Maybe I don't have one. Maybe it's not love at all. But if it's not love, then what is it? I wish I knew.

When you spend all your time worrying that the devil is right behind you, eventually you start seeing him whether he's there or not.

But if anything will turn me off, it's a very practiced approach, as if the man has done it a thousand times before, to a lot of different women. Which always seems to imply that I am no different from all the rest. Not flattering.

It has been my experience that women tell more intimate details to their friends than men do. Men may brag more, but women will talk the nitty-gritty and share the experience more.

...on the job there was nothing but the job. You left the shit outside the door. You could always pick it up on your way back out.

He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.

We're making a list." "And checking it twice." Edward shook his head.

Children make that big a difference to you? He asked. I nodded. Yeah, they do. I never figured you as the maternal type. I'm not, but kids are people, Edward, little people trapped by the choices the adults around them make.

He looked less handsome without the smile and glow in his eyes, but he also seemed more real. Being real will get me into trouble faster than any amount of charm.

There are some stories, some memories, that if you tell them after dark, they seem to gain weight, substance, as if there are things listening, waiting to hear themselves spoken of again. Words have power. But even thinking about them is sometimes enough to make the air in a room heavy.

She laughed that joyous full-blown sound that children eventually grow out of, as if the world bleeds the joy from them.

If you love someone your freedom is curtailed, if you love someone you give up much of your privacy, if you love someone you are not merely one person but half of a couple, to think or behave any other way is to risk losing that love.

Do you have a problem with us hunting down and killing a god from your pantheon?" "If it is a god, then you cannot kill it, and if you can kill it, then it is not a god. I do not mourn the death of false gods.