Nenia Campbell Quotes

Scream for me, my flower.

I was afraid and knew I had every right to be, but he had awakened a part of me that no longer cared.

I couldn't tell anyone how I felt because I knew they wouldn't understand. Oh, poor little Christina, falling for the bad man who treats her like dirt because she didn't know any better. And isn't it a pity that they don't still teach sex-ed in schools? Or, oh, Christina, that filthy slut, if she puts out for a man like that, I imagine she puts out for anyone. You stay away from her. It wasn't like that at all. Maybe it would have been easier if it was, just like ticking a box. Are you the Madonna, or the whore? The victim, or the vixen? The Sabine, or the skank?
But nothing in life is ever that simple.

Fairytales by nature only talk about the victors. The survivors. Nobody speaks about what happens to those who failed, except in the abstract: as cautionary tales to guide others onto the path to success. How many brave knights fell to the dragon before he was slayed by the noble prince? How many children burned to a crisp and eaten before the wicked witch received her due? These stories are lost, but the lesson behind them is not: it is not enough to be merely pure and good.

If you fucked the way you mouthed off to me, I'd have come by now.

I was supposed to be powerless, and as a result they failed to see that I possessed claws.

People say hate is like a poison - but they're wrong. It's like a drug. You never forget your first hit, how it seduces you with its strength and power, and takes you completely by storm. It colors your world in light and meaning, until you wonder how you ever managed to get by without it. And then, eventually, you get to a point where you can't. It takes over your life, until hating becomes your reason for living.

There was a difference between killing for nourishment and killing for curiosity or sport.

I want him to hurt me, so I won't feel pain.

Not yet," he said. "You're beautiful, and it's killing me and I want to die a moment longer. Please.

Because you mean the world to me. And because I would let it all fucking burn to ash if it only meant sparing you

What is your collective GPA for this year?"
"Not as high as I'd like it to be."
Freud steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. "What about your parents?"
"I don't know. They haven't been in school for a while.

I'm not asking you to be bad, I'm asking you to be bad for me.

They said the shape-shifters fucked with the enthusiasm of animals - if they didn't devour you with the enthusiasm of one first.

All right," she snaps at the computer. "I get it. I'm slowing down! Gods!"
"Activating Generic Ocular Display Sequence. G.O.D.S."
The front of her shuttle goes transparent and Vol experiences a nauseating wave of vertigo.
"No, that's not what I meant! It's an expression! What the hell?"
"Error. Request must be made in the form of a command."
"Oh, f*** you."
"Error. Command not recognised."
"I'm not surprised," Vol mutters.

Death was not the scariest thing out there; no, the denial of it could be far worse.

That's not cruel. This is. You come here in the middle of the night, expecting me to be awake, and ask - no, demand - me to give you things that belong to me as much as they belong to you. Never mind what it does to me. Never mind that each time I see you, I wonder if I'll ever hold you in my arms again, or be able to touch you without you cringing away like I'm a monster. I think it's fair to ask if there's an 'us,' my dear, because I suspect you're trying to use me just now. Tell me that's not cruel, and I'll let you go.

It wasn't that she was sad - sadness had very little to do with it, really, considering that most of the time, she felt close to nothing at all. Feeling required nerves, connections, sensory input. The only thing she felt was numb. And tired. Yes, she very frequently felt tired.

The villains were always ugly in books and movies. Necessarily so, it seemed. Because if they were attractive - if their looks matched their charm and their cunning - they wouldn't only be dangerous.
They would be irresistible.

You must be a blast on long car rides."
"Oh, I am. You haven't experienced fun until you try to fuck in the front seat of a Civic.

I'm pretty sure those're my balls you've found," I said to the man searching my pants. "You gonna count 'em out now? Because I'll save you the trouble. There's two.

It takes many sheep to satisfy one wolf.

It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

There were many stories of girls - brave girls, foolish girls, reckless girls, pretty girls - who went into the woods searching for fortune or adventure, only to encounter a monster. Whether man or beast, the monster served as an allegory for all the things that could befall a girl who strayed from the path. If she were valorous and her heart was pure, the stories said, she could rise above being brought low by hubris.

But the stories never talked about the other girls - the ones who never came out of the woods and found themselves an unwilling bride to the venal darkness within those trees. The girls whose virtue was not quite enough to resist the seasoned allure of the wicked villain and who, as a result, found that men, like beasts, could devour the unwary, and that it could feel so good to be consumed.

You're like a half-tamed creature, still shy of the bridle. 'Except you enthrall me, never shall be free.' But freedom is an illusion, anyway.

Knowledge is a rope, and you're weaving a noose out of it. Leave some slack for the enemy.

Fear could drive one to violence as quickly as anger could.

Would you rather I played with you instead?

Such a dark green, his eyes. They reminded her of the forest, of all the dangers lying dormant behind that verdant cloak of leaves.

Understanding did not provide solace or make the pain go away; in many ways, understanding was just more salt in the emotional wound. Ignorance allowed one to fight back with unfettered cruelty. Understanding inspired empathy, which led to guilt, as well as suffering.
She looked at Gavin, supine, unconcerned, contented, and thought that perhaps there was something to being a sociopath. If you didn't have a heart, it couldn't be broken.

Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it? So easily burst, like a bubble blown by a child, and always on the verge of being carried away.

As if I'd had time to drug it in the two milliseconds she'd let me out of her sight.

No. I made that choice. I let all that anger and pain get twisted up in my thoughts for you." He leaned in. "It fucking kills me. Every night. I relive what I did to you every night." His forehead rested against mine. "Until you," he said softly, "I never felt truly helpless.

We spend much of our lives going about completely blind to reality, and yet we still have the gall to act victimized when it invariably catches up to us.

I am waltzing with death, flirting with him, but he stands there smiling and saying nothing because he does not need to woo or be wooed: he knows he gets us all in the end.

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

I don't want to hear you talk about yourself like this."

"I don't have to talk." He ran his hand down her thigh as he let his lips drag across her cheek, towards her ear. "I could do other things with my mouth.

Humanity was a precipice and she was standing on the edge of it, staring into the wild and yawning void that encompassed all things bestial and frightening. It would be so easy to jump, to let go and fall in - but once she started falling, her fear was that she would never stop.

You shouldn't be wandering around in
such a big city all by yourself. Even if it is Seattle.

A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport.

Some of the cruelest men in the world were born with silver tongues. They could charm a bird right out of the sky, only to break its wings. And no men, nice or cruel, offer favors lightly - not strangers. Not to young women. Not without expecting something back in return.

You think you fucking know me? I'm an assassin. I kill people for a living. Good people, bad people, it makes no difference to me as long as I get paid." I spoke slowly, giving each word time to sink in. "And that girl you just sold out? She's the only thing in this world that makes me even remotely human.

That's what I fear: being subtracted from myself. Negation. Forced against my will to become a beast.

So you thought you could shit and eat at the same time. How disgustingly convenient.

Isn't that just typical. You're either asking for it, or having it forced upon you without your consent. Who decided women always have to be passive in sex?

Come here. Then we'll talk."
That sounds like a bad idea to her. "I can hear you fine right here."
"Is it the arrows?" He kicks bow and quiver into the stream and grins a grin that puts the devil to shame. "There. Now I'm harmless."
"No?" He tilts his head, shifting to his side so he can lean his stubbled chin on his hand. "Well, harmless enough. Don't you think?"
"No.

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All lines are gray in the dark.

What is art, if not an excuse to be adventurous?

We don't have dealings. He just stalks me. I'm popular like that.

In a fight between a shifter and a witch, the shifter would often win - but only if they could keep the witch from speaking, usually by severing the throat or tearing out the tongue. If the witch was powerful enough, and quick enough, physical size didn't matter. Catherine had heard of the horrible ways the witches could kill their victims. Cooking them alive from the inside out, restricting oxygen flow through the nasal and oral passages by creating a vacuum, drowning them with vapor pulled from the very air.
It made fights between shifters look almost humane by comparison.

When your whole foundation fractured well past the point of repair, all you could do was glue the pathetic, jagged shards of your life back together and try not to bleed on them.

Yes. You're the only thing that matters right now." Michael, swaying a little over me, said, "You're trying to talk yourself into hating me when all I'm trying to do is keep you alive.

Once a flower is picked it immediately begins to die.

We always vilify what we don't understand.

I bask in that sympathy because it's nice to have somebody who cares, even if it's the wrong person for the wrong reasons.

He traced my lower lip. I braced myself for the pain that was sure to follow because he was like a sadistic King Midas, turning everything he touched into pain.

What do you want to do with your life, then? is often the question I'm asked.
To be honest, I don't know. I really don't.
Mainly because I don't see myself living long enough for that to make much of a difference.

Girls can fight with swords, too. Sometimes, even better than men can. They just have to want it badly enough that they're willing to work harder at it.

You may have bought my body, you may even have the papers to prove it, but don't fool yourself into thinking for a moment that my heart and mind were included in the purchase.

He kissed her, and the magic that had been building up steadily around them exploded, raining down in arcs of silver fire that made her half-remember a prophecy from her dreams.
One by one, they all will die.
Something had been set into motion.

She was full of fire and he had never wanted to burn so badly.

He wanted a fight, yes - but he wanted her willing, not besieged, with his name shattering from her lips like a broken shield as she surrendered.

In the absence of deliberate cruelty, the harshness of his face and the fullness of his mouth just looked sullen and a little wicked. An angel frozen into a tableau of marmoreal perfection as he contemplated his imminent fall from grace.

You don't think I could bring myself to mark your lovely skin? I'll take my knife to you, if that's the case. I'll carve my name in your breast so that every beat of your heart will remind you that you are mine - and mine alone. Because blood is binding, and because I would rather see you destroyed than see you free or in the possession of another, so I suggest you not try me, or you will suffer as no earthly creature has." He slammed her back against the wall. "Or ever will. But that is a suggestion, and one you are free to disregard at your own peril. But you are are going to answer my question.

Valys also didn't think I was good enough for him. He made that clear every time he acted like a martyr forced to settle. But what he didn't understand was that if he thought I might not be good enough for him, he definitely wasn't good enough for me. I was well aware of my flaws, but I knew my merits, too; I shouldn't have to be anyone's second-best. Least of all, his.

I cannot breathe, or see, nor swim,
My darkness is composed of him.

What a joke, coming from a woman who worked for the fashion industry. Really. Starving yourself to fit into a size zero - why did that size even exist? Zero referred to the absence of something, but what did it mean in terms of a model's measurements? Her fat? Or her presence? How much could you cut away before the person herself vanished? It was hypocritical, that's what it was. I said as much, adding, If you're so keen on me being healthy then you should have no problem accepting me for the way I am. That's what's healthy, Mom. Not being focused on all this freaky weight-loss stuff.

Maybe that was why the French called orgasms "las petites morts": because the things that bring us passion tend to slip past our defenses, to creep insidiously into every facet of our consciousnesses and kill us as ruthlessly, and efficiently, as any drug.

We feel most alive when we are closest to death.

Nothing about me scares him, because he's always able to match it. We're two peas in a fucked-up pod.

Butt holes are like a one-way street; they were made the way they were for a reason.

Jesus had been betrayed for thirty pieces of silver. I'd betrayed myself for soap.

I think you enjoy messing with people."
"That's a purely hypothetical supposition on your part," the bastard says.

I participate in BDSM, but I wasn't abused as a child. I don't hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it's consensual, it serves a purpose - to get them off - and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return - except the understanding that I won't violate that trust.

Everyone needs to escape sometimes, and retreating into somebody else's fantasy isn't nearly as satisfying as slipping into your own.

I wasn't a complete bastard. If she liked to think she saw good in me, if she wanted to take credit for it, I'd let her. She deserved that much.

I had a fucking standing ovation going on in my goddamn pants, and it was demanding an encore.

There's a saying that you can't put a price on a human life, but that saying is a lie because we have. We have, and it's so much lower than you would think. Yes, human life has its price like anything else, and will continue to do so for as long as it doubles as a commodity.

Men who thought of themselves as gods fell the farthest, and the hardest.

I'm sorry I missed the meeting and hurt your little feely-weels okay?

I know what it is to want something that could destroy you.

A quick and brutal fuck from behind usually served as an effective reminder of where you stood in the pack hierarchy.

You were the most beautiful thing that I'd ever seen. I couldn't decide whether to pluck you out of the sky and cage you, or simply break your wings.

Conquest was not satisfying if it began with a surrender.

I wanted to persuade her, but I didn't want to scare her, and I certainly didn't want to make her cry. I wanted her to be safe. I wanted her to be mine. I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too.

I can take care of myself," I said hotly.
"Darlin, you don't even know how to pleasure yourself.

Crazy people always think they're perfectly sane. It's what makes them so crazy; their entire delusion lies within the fact that they believe they aren't deluded.

Being a victim is supposed to set you free; it acquits you of any agency, any sense of responsibility to the person who did you harm. It's not your fault, they say. Leave him, they say. Nobody ever tells you what to do if leaving isn't an option.
They just call you stupid. A dumb bitch.
Sympathy is only meted out if you follow all of
society's rules for how a victim is supposed to behave.

Briar Rose awakens to grace us with her gentle presence once more."
"Shut up," says Vol.
"Your thorns are showing.

You were a well-respected agent, Michael, a rags-to-riches fairytale ending. Until you became disgraced. Now it appears your own organization wishes to be rid of you. Why is this?"
"My gun turned back into a pumpkin.

He acted like a libertine of Europe with a genteel Southern propriety - and had all the morals of an emotionless psychopath. The two former masked the latter, like leaves covering a snare. You didn't notice the steel jaws until they were impaled in your flesh, and by then it was already far too late to run.

I though I made it clear that harming you isn't high on my list of priorities." He shifts her in his hold so that while he is speaking, he is looking directly into her eyes. "And even if it was - which it isn't - I certainly wouldn't go about hurting you in such a half-coccked way, nor would I do it when your back was turned. As with most other things, I'd do it face-to-face and with finesse.

It's true what they say, you know. First fuck. First love. First kill. You never forget your first.

There were things one could do, things so terrible, Val was certain they could make someone stop loving you. She was equally certain that she had done some of these things, and as desperate as she was to be proven otherwise, she was equally afraid that she was right. That she had become as awful as the rest of the world seemed to think she was. That she was unlovable.

You are the playground of which I have free reign.

Val had a horrific image of Lisa peering through a magnifying glass like a grotesquely teenybopper version of Nancy Drew - in jeggings.

Maybe." Possibly. Probably.

I was starting to fall in love with Michael Boutilier. Quickly, violently. It was a love that was both armed and dangerous, a ticking time-bomb of destruction that threatened to send my whole world up in flames
and it felt good.

I fucking love you, you know," he said. "You made my life complicated as fuck, and I could care less.

Fuck, Christina."
"Yes, fuck Christina. I think she'd like that.

"Yes, fuck Christina. I" title="Nenia Campbell Quotes: Fuck, Christina."
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