“He pulls me around and kisses me. "You're Mac," he says. "And I'm Jericho. And nothing else matters. Never will. You exist in a place that is beyond all rules for me. Do you understand that?"
I do.
Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.”
“Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything.
They make you feel so alive that you'd follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.”
“The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble."
"Ditto."
"I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home."
"If you'd done that, I never would have left."
"You're still here anyway."
"You don't have to sound so sour about it."
"You're upsetting my entire existence."
"Fine, I'll leave."
"Try and I'll chain you up.”
“One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can’t breathe around it and you realize you don’t need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset. To touch the one you love. To try again.”
“V'lane: Are you busy tomorrow MacKayla ?
Barrons: She's working on old texts with me.
V'lane: Ah. Old texts. A banner day at the bookstore.
Barrons: We're translating Kama Sutra...with interactive aids.”
“When you know who I am. Let me be your man.”
“I hate fate. I don’t believe in her. Unfortunately, I think the bitch believes in me.”
“Time heals.
No, it doesn't. At best, time is the great leveler, sweeping us all into coffins. We find ways to distract ourselves from the pain. Time is neither scalpel nor bandage. It is indifferent. Scar tissue is not a good thing. It is merely the wound's other face.”
“Love knows no right or wrong.
Love is. Only is.”
“Some things are sacred. Until you act like they're not. Then you lose them”
“I don't have any idea what to wear anymore, so I tried to cover all bases."
"Try skin."
"Little chilly for that."
We looked at each other across the coffee table.
His eyes didn't say, I'd heat you up, and mine didn't say What are you waiting for? He didn't reply, Fuck if I'm making the first move, so I was careful not to say, I wish you would, because I can't, because I'm... and he didn't snap ...choking on your pride?!
"As if you aren't."
"Excuse me?"
"Really Barrons," I said drily. "I'm not the only one who didn't just not have that conversation, and you know it."
There was the faint, sexy lift of his lip. "You're a piece of work, Ms. Lane."
"Right back at you.”
“I didn’t ask. Some things are better left unsaid.
He looked at me and I shivered. I never get enough of him.
Never will.
He lives.
I breathe.
I want. Him. Always.
Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever.
Later we would go to bed, and when he rose over me, dark and vast and eternal, I’d know joy.”
“They'll try to kill you."
"Good thing I'm hard to kill." Only one thing concerned me. "Will you?"
"Never. I'm the one who will always watch over you. Always be there to fuck you back to your senses when you need it, the one who will never let you die.”
“We have to save the world," I reminded him.
He reached for me. "The world can wait. I can't.”
“Hope strengthens. Fear kills[...] That simple adage is master of every situation, every choice. Each morning we wake up, we get to choose between hope and fear and apply one of those emotions to everything we do. Do we greet things that come our way with joy? Or suspicion?”
“I'm not the hero, Mac. Never have been. Never will be. Let us be perfectly clear: I'm not the antihero, either, so quit waiting to discover my hidden potential. There's nothing to redeem me.”
“That's it. Fate is a fickle whore. We're not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.”
“God Said: Let there be light!
I said: Say please.”
“Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again.
'Hell would be waking up and wanting nothing,' he agrees.”
“Most people are good and occasionally do something they know is bad. Some people are bad and struggle every day to keep it under control. Others are corrupt to the core and don’t give a damn, as long as they don’t get caught. But evil is a completely different creature, Mac. Evil is bad that believes it’s good.”
“Stop staring at my dick," he growled.
Oh, yes it was definitely an illusion. "Barrons loved me staring at his dick,"I informed it. "he would have been happy if I'd stared at his dick all day long, composing odes to its perfection.”
“Ancient eyes had stared at me, filled with ancient grief. And something more. Something so alien and unexpected that I'd almost burst into tears. I'd seen many things in his eyes in the time that I'd known him: lust, amusement, sympathy, mockery, caution, fury. But I had never seen this.
Hope. Jericho Barrons had hope, and I was the reason for it.
I would never forget his smile. It had illuminated him from the inside out.”
“He's trying not to laugh. I tell him I would have doomed mankind for him, and he's trying not to laugh.”
“I know part of what turns me on so hard, makes me so violent with lust, is that he's dangerous. I fell for the bad guy. I'm crazy about the one who's trouble. The alpha that doesn't play well with others and doesn't take orders from anyone.”
“You may be trying to claim the woman, his eyes said, but make no mistake, she and the fucking fireplace are mine.”
“Don't leave me, Rainbow Girl."
Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was?
It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. "Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé's the night you told me to dress Goth?"
"It's upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you.”
“Keep hoping to see the light in her eyes. Even knowing it'll mean she's saying good-bye.”
“I'm not good, Mac. Never have been.'
What-true confession time? my eyes tease. Don't need it.
'I want what I want and I take it.'
Is he warning me? What could he possibly threaten me with now?
'There's nothing I can't live with. Only things I won't live without.”
“We’re all united by grief, and somehow divided by the same thing. My”
“It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world. He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because, when you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.”
“The basic project of art is always to make the world whole and comprehensible, to restore it to us in all its glory and its occasional nastiness, not through argument but through feeling, and then to close the gap between you and everything that is not you, and in this way pass from feeling to meaning. It's not something that committees can do. It's not a task achieved by groups or by movements. It's done by individuals, each person mediating in some way between a sense of history and an experience of the world.”
“Nathaniel Hawthorne, who was at the time American consul in Liverpool, provided a preface, then almost instantly wished he hadn’t, for the book was universally regarded by reviewers as preposterous hokum. Hawthorne under questioning admitted that he hadn’t actually read it. “This shall be the last of my benevolent follies, and I will never be kind to anybody again as long as [I] live,” he vowed in a letter to a friend.”
“„– Będę czujny – westchnął. – Ale nie sądzę, żeby twój wytrawny gracz był w stanie mnie zaskoczyć. Nie po tym, co ja tu przeszedłem. Rzucili się na mnie szpiedzy, opadły wymierające gady i gronostaje. Nakarmiono mnie nie istniejącym kawiorem. Nie gustujące w mężczyznach nimfomanki podawały w wątpliwość moją męskość, groziły gwałtem na jeżu, straszyły ciążą, ba, nawet orgazmem, i to takim, któremu nie towarzyszą rytualne ruchy. Brrr...
- Piłeś?”
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