Luke Taylor Quotes

His eyesight was possessed by the colours of trauma, cracking and bubbling like an old Super Eight film to remind him of his near-death drowning some two months ago in that very moment when he needed to act.

There was no victory in death, just death. To live through the chaos would be victory and it would come at an extremely high cost.

You stole my heart before I could give it to you.

If you plant junk, don't expect to harvest jewels.

With The Dread, first kiss was the beginning. Second kiss was the end.

Life's just an adventure. Can't live it standing still.

You can tell me. I won't cry.

A story is only as good as its villain.

Whatever lived in Marbh Raon could not grow; yet such could not die, as all was held in an ethereal state of turbulent animation, too bound with dread to move, thus remaining forever still.

A writer should be judged on how red they make their reader's eyes.

Fiction is a careful combination of observation, inspiration, and imagination.

Then he thought of Marland just now, on the edge of the hill, how the newborn sun flamed over her shoulder, having burned through the fog of the night; how the tops of the trees were beneath her feet and the city of Crescent was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Her face could change like the sky itself and like the sky never lost its radiance and beauty. Sierra Marland was a facade with no end and yet she had been as genuine and true to him as the heavens were blue.

He took a deep breath in, still managing himself as if he were resisting temptation. He was a soldier, his father was in the service, too. Crying wasn't something Morell men did. They just didn't.

He hadn't cried at Robbie Morell's funeral.

So he wasn't going to now.

It is far easier to take a blow to the cheek than a blow to one's pride. Broken bones can heal, but a broken mirror must be replaced.

I'm perceptive enough to understand people's souls to the extent that I know the real thing only happens in fairy tales but ever so often if people are patient enough...and mature enough, they find that person that unlocks a secret in their heart, even if they've never laid eyes on each other...it's as if they already knew each other from a past life and they've been walking through amnesia waiting to remember what always was.

It was about time their nose for trouble had a woman's touch.

Loomis waved a hand and a squiggly trail of smoke followed like a magic wand. Loomis had a captivating subtlety and charm and was capable of more tricks than a sage in Pharaoh's court.

And whilst so much escaped her mind, such could nay escape her heart, so eager to receive the witnesses of such chance-built things, like seed in soil.

I know my place. I always did. I just never knew how to get there.

Erland turned his eyes to the window and the figure that stood before it with arms crossed, staring into the anamorphic slurry of colors caught together in the burying of the sun as night fell like a jar of blue-black paint.

I've seen a lot in my years, Aerlyn. And when I look at you, I see a rose, not a thistle."
Her heart caught in her throat and she nearly snorted.
"You see what you want to see."
Quill chuckled to himself. At the thorns in her voice.
"As do you, Thistle. Can you tell me what I can see any more than I can tell you want you see?"
"No."
"Then let me see what I want to see." He said, turning to face her, and she jabbed her midnight gaze at him before twisting her head to see the many sorrows sleeping beneath his own lake blue eyes. "Because I see what no one else sees.

Don't write what you know. Write who you are. Write your heart and soul. Write what you dream of when you look to the stars.

Temptation is temptation." Lucy flipped another
page, her reading intent and steady. "No matter what the stakes.

Writers are like onions, layers upon layers upon layers.

The man looked up and Tanya was staring at him through watery eyes.
"Now you know. I don't see how it changes anything."
"It doesn't. You're still a diamond in a field of mud."
Tanya smirked.
"And what about you?"
"I don't know what I am."
"What do you want to be?"
"It's not that easy.

What was there in a man's life, but what he saw and what he could not?

Death was in the darkness, and it swallowed what it willed, what it wanted, and it wanted infinity, from east to west like an ever-digesting stomach of razor-wind teeth.

The blue eyes watched the Texan as his python skin boots took him into the dimness of the hall of doors and his escape from Corazon's ICU was a clip clopping stride of broken confidence caught in the rebellious lighting of a cigarette.

It was not fear thinking these thoughts. More like realism. A very grim sense of it. A knowing that far too soon not all would be as it was now.

The sound of diesel fuel rushing through grimy pistons and cylinders below a morning-fogged window bored through his ears like a deep-water drill bit, and the thump of his own heartbeat cursed him for breaking one of his many rules.

Your face says much, thief. Trust me, I'm the one who's looking at it.

Don't forget where you came from, but always remember where you're going.