Rob Thurman Quotes

Luckily enough, we do have an entire bottle of wheatgrass juice." "Your sense of humor isn't all that it could be, you know that?" Goodfellow took the glass and stared into it morosely. He took a sip and the green in the glass was transferred to his face. "Holy Bacchus," he sputtered. "That is against nature and all things divine.

When I remembered Stefan first coming for me, it wasn't a man in a black mask or a crazy guy shoving Three Musketeers bars at me as he tried to convince me I was his brother. I remembered an ocean, dark as a universe without stars-black with guilt, despair, rage, violence, self loathing. All I could see was his hand reaching out of the water; the rest of him was buried in a liquid Hell he couldn't escape

The fact that the bodies weren't my first concern–-pissing and bodies were, in that order - -helped too. Killers have different priorities.

Told me that when you bury emotions like that, you're only pissing them off ... making them stronger, because you're burying them alive. They don't like that, and one day they'll make sure that you don't like it either.

Most kids don't believe in fairy tales very long. Once they hit six or seven they put away "Cinderella" and
her shoe fetish, "The Three Little Pigs" with their violation of building codes, "Miss Muffet" and her
well-shaped tuffet - all forgotten or discounted. And maybe that's the way it has to be. To survive in the
world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make-believe. The only trouble is that it's not all
make-believe. Some parts of the fairy tales are all too real, all too true. There might not be a Red Riding
Hood, but there is a Big Bad Wolf. No Snow White, but definitely an Evil Queen. No obnoxiously cute
blond tots, but a child-eating witch ... yeah. Oh yeah.

Snap judgments? I'd gotten over those about the time I was toilet trained. Swore off diapers and faith in the human experience all in one week.

People
stupid when they lived; potentially stupid when they died.

I raised another shot. That sound you hear is the heads of moral conservatives spontaneously exploding in the distance.

Pooh hater,' I muttered under my breath.
'Winnie-the-Pooh was not a koala
why am I even arguing about this with you?

Me? I was lucky to get a grunt from the local pizza delivery girl. And I had nice eyes too, not to mention a killer ass. There truly was no justice in the world.

The guy had guts - I had to give him that. Later on I was hoping for a first-hand look at them.

Several months ago there was a somewhat, in some people's eyes, relatively normal Cal
or by and large normal
the best he was able to be as half Auphe. Occasionally he did lose his shit, attacked and ate deer while on road trips through the woods, created massive holes in between dimensions to shove through malevolently murderous pucks, and once in a while ripped out an Auphe's throat with his teeth. He also opened a gate or two to save his friends, blew up an antihealer from the inside out to save the world, cleaned his guns while watching porn, and generally was a smart-ass to everyone.
Normal.

You're the little spoon, aren't you?

I love Urban Fantasy, even though I'm inevitably compared to 'Supernatural,' only a little more edgy.

Good Samaritans: Truth, justice and the American way–for them it wasn't only a comic book code; it was a way of life. it was admirable, courageous, and inconvenient as shit. -Stefan, CHIMERA

Every inner touch, every one of its fingerprints on my brain, burned like acid. It shredded the walls of my soul like tissue paper, it clawed its way into my very center, I couldn't tell anymore where it began and I ended. It poured into me like a river into the sea, mixing, melding, until we were one. One. For better or worse. Until death do us part.

Robin had presented him with a fake degree from a university in Athens where the puck had an old acquaintance who still got a kick out of teaching, despite hemlock rumors to the contrary.

All I cared was that she had never lied. She was honest in a world just the opposite, and a cool oasis in my life. She was who she said she was, and everything Sophia, my mother, the pathologically manipulative liar, had never been.

Spartacus," I called, "how's it hanging?" Probably not too well. Once you're dead, had your organs removed, and are resurrected as an undead mummified cat, your testicles probably looked like old raisins that had rolled under the couch. Raisins didn't tend to ... hang.

Look at the ex-demon with his big boy pants on now.

It is now. It is always now. Now is good. Now could be the best. My name is Catcher. My name was Catcher.
My name ... my name ...
I am ...
I am lost, I am found and then I am free and I am happy.
When I jump over that edge, someone leaps with me, shoulder to shoulder. I smell kinship on him. Kinship is all. I'm not alone.
Never alone.
I land, earth below me, moon above. I am wolf. We are pack.
And that is all I need.

I have people in my life, of course. Some write; some don't. Some read; some don't. Some stare vacantly into space when I talk the geeky talk and walk the geeky walk, but they make killer chocolate chip pancakes and so all is forgiven.

She was more of a marble statue under a cascade of moonlight, smelling like flowers and ivy - the glory of a weeping graveyard angel.

Home is where the heart is or where you bury the ones you want to eat later.

She'd eat you alive." "She would, would she?" Niko said dryly. "Seriously, Nik, she's dangerous, a predator." This voice-of-reason shit, it had to stop. It was a strain on my resources. His lip twitched. "And what, little brother, do you think I am?" Damn. He had me there.

I'd be a monster fighter who rode the bus. It didn't get any more bad-ass than that.

Call my cell." He whipped out a card and passed it over. "Here's my number." I didn't bother to look at it. "I'm guessing 666- 6666." "Oh, right. As if that number weren't snatched up decades ago.

Who do you take me for?" "The devil?" Please. The devil wished he had half my style and a fourth my schemes.

At least that's what his note said, along with a scathing reminder that dishes didn't wash themselves and the fungus in the bathroom was one day away from evolving into sentient life. I folded the note into an airplane and sailed it across the room. It ended up perched jauntily on top of the ancient television. It looked good there and I left it as a tribute to freedom-loving fungi everywhere.

The place was out in Jersey ... Newark. And while that made living with yourself harder, it did make parking somewhat easier.

There are a lot of truths in this world. When it rains it pours. It's always darkest before the dawn. He who smelt it dealt it.

They don't have to choose either/or. They can have their cake and mutilate it too.

The bus is full of German tourists in shorts so short that they required a Brazilian wax for the men as well as the women. There had been thighs as bountiful as baking bread, as wobbly as Jello, and as pitted as the surface of the moon.

But hoping you never saw someone again is a damn sight different from wishing them dead.

We all have our security blankets in this world. Some are just sharper than others.

Alone: it was no way to live and it was no way to die.

And he had it all over Octavian, let me tell you. Hung like a Pegasus, he was.

I am your brother. I was supposed to be your brother before either of us was born. Karmic debt. It appears I was Vlad the Impaler or Genghis Khan in a past life.

Grumbling incoherently, I fished in my jacket pocket for sunglasses. "Fear not, night dweller," Niko said with mocking gravity. "It is merely the sun, something you would see more often if you would roll out of bed before late afternoon.

You can't choose, who you are. No matter how you struggle, some things will never change. And maybe they schouldn't.

You're so very good at that. The temper, the scowl. You must drink shots of testosterone in your morning coffee.

It's true. Goodfellow is monogamous. he's become a freak. A pervert. Depravity on the cloven hoof."
"Or his balls fell off," suggested another puck who came to the bar. "Or his dick. Anyone who would hang out with Bacchus is bound to get a catastrophic genital rotting illness at some point.

How do you know I have a brother?" Cal wasn't playing anymore. The suspicion was real and I was already moving, the switchblade hidden in my hand.
"You always do. Or a cousin or a best friend bonded by blood. Something of thet dramatic overwrought nature. Someone who is wirtually attached to you at the hip. Let me speak to him. He's invariably more reasonable.

Wouldn't you leave a light on? Knowing what I knew and not knowing anything else at all, why would I want the darkness where the monsters hide?
Because killers hide there too.

Get a grip, change your shorts, and move on to the task at hand.

What're you still doing up? You know all good little ninjas should be in bed, visions of homicidal sugarplums dancing in their heads.

I need it all: in-depth characterization, fantastic/warped world building, a plot that could out-race Secretariat, and a 'voice.' I need to hear a uniqueness in the author's voice.

Lies were like acid, corrosive: They could dissolve trust in a heartbeat.

Mama said there was always a catastrophe coming. Someone's world was always coming to an end. It wasn't our worry to change every ending, only the endings we could

He touched my little brother - I stopped his heart.
It was a fair trade.

I wonder if I brought my Silly-cat in…could you tell me what she's thinking?'
'I can tell you what she's thinking right now, no touching necessary,' I drawled. 'She's thinking if she were three times her size, she would eat you.' …Every cat that was awake when I'd smoothed its fur with a bare hand thought that. Every cat I touched that was asleep dreamed that.

All of his life had been about making sure I kept mine.

Grocery lists I lost; my shit list was forever.