Sarah Cross Quotes

I'm looking for freedom with a side of restraining order, but everything just comes with bacon.

I never imagined you'd be so difficult," he muttered.
"Maybe that's why you're supposed to meet me when I'm unconscious. So I don't burst your bubble right away.

You couldn't hide from bad things and pretend they didn't exist–that left you with a dream world, and dream worlds eventually crumbled. You had to face the truth. And then decide what you wanted.

It seared her senses; it made her feel alive, even as it sucked that life away - and she kept coming back to it, again and again. Waves of sensation pulled her under - drowning her. But Blue made drowning feel like the loveliest thing. Like she was losing her breath, but she didn't need it, didn't want it, only wanted him.

We look good taped back together.

They were like a firecracker that had burned up. The pretty picture, the sparkling moment was gone; they were just smoke and ashes now.

Blue smiled. He had one of those devastatingly charming smiles that made you hate him even more when you noticed it. It was like he was fighting dirty.

You don't want to sit by me?" Rafe called to her with a grin.
"No, I don't," Layla said. "I wouldn't sit by you if every other seat in the room was on fire."
"Ouch." Rafe winced, then rebounded with a sleazy smile. "That would hurt me if I believed it. You know you're curious to go for a ride."
"About as curious as I am to get syphilis," Layla snapped.

Mira, I'm about to be naked," Blue said as he whipped off his belt and tossed it on the floor. "So watch out. Well, in my underwear."
"I've seen you in your bathing suit," Mira said. "It's the same thing."
"It is not the same thing," Blue said. "When it's accompanied by seventies porn music, it's an X-rated strip show." Blue yanked off his shirt. "Freddie, you're kind of slow on the uptake. Eine kleine porn music, please."
Freddie scrunched his forehead in distaste. "I don't want to plug my guitar in just so I can play some bow-chicka-wow-wow accompaniment to your strip show.
Mira laughed. "Bow-chicka-what was that, Freddie?

I'm starting to think it was a mistake to introduce you to the whole gang," he said.
Rafe was still hitting on Layla; Layla was fighting with him, insisting that fairies didn't turn good people into monsters, they just exposed the monstrousness that was already there; and Freddie was doing his best to play peacemaker, or etiquette coach from 1850, or whatever he thought he was doing. Henley was watching the group from outside, leaning against the window, smoking a cigarette. Viv was sawing into an apple tart with a masochistic grin on her face.
"No wonder you're such a freak," Mira said finally.

She used to imagine her parents and happy endings she would never have. Now she envisioned torments that were all too real.
She pictured one of Cinderella's stepsisters planting her foot on a cutting board - and biting down hard as the cleaver chopped through the bone of her big toe.
She imagined a princess used to safety, luxury, throwing the rank hide of a donkey over her shoulders, its boneless face drooping past her forehead like a hideous veil.
And she imagined her future self, flat on her back in bed, limbs as heavy as if they'd been chained down. Mice scurried across her body, leaving footprints on her dress. Spiders spun an entire trousseau's worth of silk and draped her in it, so it appeared she wore a gown of the finest lace, adorned with rose petals and ensnared butterflies. Beetles nestled between her fingers like jeweled rings - lovely from a distance, horrific up close.

He kissed her lightly on the nose, and she laughed. Blue eyed her with faux seriousness. "How was that? Any weakness?"
"No. But I don't think there would have been anyway."

"Well, then, how about this?" His lips brushed hers, his mouth teasing her lower lip, and her eyes closed and she shivered as his fingers caught her hair. And then suddenly, there wasn't any space between them. The sensation of drowning was there, but it wasn't like her strength was leaving her. It was like she wanted to be part of him. Like she didn't know or care where she ended and he began.

When they drew apart, she whispered, "No weakness."
"Really?" he said. "'Cause I'm feeling a little weak." She felt him smile against her mouth. And they both laughed, shook with it. Their faces were too close, noses and cheeks pressed awkwardly together, but neither one of them moved. She tightened her arms around him, and he held her just as tightly. His breath murmured against her cheek.

"You're safe with me, Mira. And I'm safe with you.

He shut off the mower when he saw them - and scowled.
Mira hoped that wasn't Viv. But on the bright side: someone else was unhappy to see Blue and Freddie. The world was already making more sense.

I don't get it." She gestured to the crowd of dancing princesses and princes, and the twelfth princess in particular. "Don't you have a princess already?"
"The twelve dancing princesses curse isn't mine."
"Then ... what is your curse? Why am I here?"
"Why are you here?" He leaned in, so close she could see the silver flecks in his dark grey eyes. "You're here because I got tired of waiting for you to die.

Henley - " She reached for him, but he eluded her grasp. "I don't want you to go."
"No, you want to be the one who leaves. That's how it works, right? You go whenever you're ready. And to hell with what I'm ready for.

Freddie dropped down beside them, distressed. "Let go of her, Blue; that looks really bad."
"Feel free to stop him," Mira said, "instead of frowning at me like a sad puppy."
"Hey!" Freddie said, looking like a sadder puppy.
"I'm not going to molest you," Blue said.
"You're molesting my wrist," Mira said. "I don't want you touching me."
"I didn't want you to knee me in the lungs, so I guess we're even.

They said every year was a gift, not a guarantee, and ought to be celebrated accordingly.

Mira sat down on the rim of the fountain. The marble ledge was damp, and mist sprinkled her skin. Coins shimmered under the water like fish scales.
She counted them, each one a wish, and wondered how love could be anything but good.

What do you think, Vivian? Am I ruining lives tonight?"
"You mean, besides ours?

Pretty enough to make Henley the Huntsman want to save me ... but not too pretty, because too pretty is what sets my stepmother off. And she wants me gone - she wanted me gone years ago."
Viv twisted restlessly. "I don't know what she's waiting for. Waiting to make him hate me, I guess. Make him loyal to her so he'll cut my heart out when she asks him to ... And then if Henley doesn't kill me, there's the matter of being pretty enough to attract some necrophiliac playboy. Someday my prince will come - and be enamored of my lifeless body. There's some happily-ever-after for you.

I want to stay," he admitted. "I haven't felt this way in a long time. I feel like ... like I came up from being underwater, and I can finally breathe. I don't want to stop feeling that way. That's how I know I have to leave.

Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back ... then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.

Viv closed her eyes, sick with regret. "Why do you act like no one ever loved you? I loved you."
For a second Regina's fingers were softer, almost caressing, at the nape of Viv's neck. "Hmm. Maybe you did. But it's funny ... how we want love from certain people, and if we don't get it from them, it'll never be enough coming from someone else.

Dusty didn't lust after him like her stepsisters did - he seemed like kind of an idiot. But she could recognize that he was also a prize. And it was no secret that he had a Prince Charming curse - he'd been naked in public often enough for everyone to know about the mark on his back.
So when Prince hot idiot's family threw a three-day fancy dress ball to celebrate his college graduation, Dusty made up her mind to go. But first, she needed a dress.

That was like watching my dad French-kiss a raccoon-I feel violated on so many levels.

Henley squinted at her. "What about you?"
Mira looked around, flustered, hair swinging heavily as she moved. "What about me what?"
Henley sighed and let the chair thunk to the floor. "What role are you playing? Felix's underage girlfriend, Blue's obsession, or Freddie's princess?"
"That's ... rude," she said.
"It was rude when you asked me, too.

Do you know where Blue is? Can you get him for me? Please?"
"Frederick," Bliss said. "Do you always bring a sword to a pool party? You are familiar with the concept of rust, I hope."
"I - yes, of course," Freddie said, looking as if he wasn't sure whom to answer first, but deferring to the fairy out of respect for his magical elders. "I have it in case there's trouble, and I need to decapitate Fel - er, someone. Anyone, rather. Anyone in need of decapitation."
"Frederick, that is very disturbing," Bliss said. "I do hope you're joking."
"Where's Blue?" Mira shouted.

You don't like Blue, do you?"
"No," Mira said, caught off guard by the change of subject.
"I was worried he was doing his knight-in-tarnished-armor thing and it was winning you over.

Art is a kind of magic. Creativity is mysterious, even to artists, who might be able to name their inspiration but can't always explain how their influences and experiences came together to create this new thing- this painting, this story, this song. If you break art down to its base elements, there's nothing miraculous about the letters of the alphabet or a drop of paint. But an artist can put those elements together to create something powerful, something that moves us and withstands the test of time. A work that no one but that artist could have imagined, let alone created.

You're - you're something else, someone really special, and I feel completely justified in being in love with you.

Can't handle your alcohol, Mira?" Blue called over.
"I didn't expect it to go everywhere! Now I smell like beer."
"It could be worse," Blue said. "You could smell like Rafe's sex life, like Caspian does." Poor Caspian was huddled in the blanket, staring longingly out to sea, oblivious to their conversation.
"That was low," Freddie said, hiding a grin.

Mira shrugged. If Rachel thought long-distance romance was weird, she'd think the truth - a fake long-distance romance, complete with eight months' worth of love letters that Mira had written to cover her tracks - was a whole lot weirder.

We live vicariously through stories, because our own lives provide so few opportunities for high-stakes adventure and noble sacrifice.

She never felt nervous around Blue. She could hold her own with him, laugh at him, and, if necessary, slap him. There was something reassuring about that.

I'm swimming," Caspian announced. "Sort of. Do you think that will interfere with my mermaid search? If I fall into the ocean and I'm not drowning, do you think she'll bother to save me?"
"I think your mermaid probably has a life," Wills said ... "You can't count on her to be waiting around for you every day. So drowning on purpose makes you an idiot.

And at that age, the only boys I didn't think were gross were dead scientists – and it's not like I wanted to kiss those guys. (No offense, Niels Bohr.)

There was one thing Felix had denied her. One prohibition he'd set down - which made it something to fixate on and wonder about.
What was so secret about suite 3013?

The whole morning was absurd. She'd never felt so angry, or aggressive, in her entire life. She didn't normally want to hit people, or even yell at them - because normally you could reason with people. And if you couldn't, you could avoid them. But Blue was impossible. He was so rude and belligerent and ... relentless about it.

So many fairy tales were about breaking taboos, and being punished for crossing lines you shouldn't have crossed.
Touching a spindle you were forbidden to touch. Inviting a witch into your cottage, and accepting the shiny apples she brought you, even though you knew better, because you wanted them.
And while most heroes or heroines managed to scratch or scheme their way out of peril, it was easier to avoid doing something stupid in the first place. Smarter, better, and infinitely less fraught with regret.

Curiosity killed the brat.

A fighter is someone who fights- with everything and anything she has at her disposal.

You know me. I'll hurt you. Welcome home.

What is there about you to adore? Who in this world do you care about, besides yourself? You're a pretty face, but you're empty inside. You don't even know what you want. You're just waiting for someone to give it to you.