Inked Quotes

Mum said no one has ever called me by my first name so I've always assumed that even as a baby they could tell I wasn't an Arabella, a name with loops and flourishes in black-inked calligraphy; a name that contains within it girls called Bella or Bells or Belle - so many beautiful possibilities. No, from the start I was clearly a Beatrice, sensible and unembellished in Times New Roman, with no one hiding inside. ~ Rosamund Lupton

Turn off your phone, and your computer and your mind. Find your heart center and send it compassion. See the holiness in everyone you meet. Honor it.
Know your worth. Know your worth. Know your worth.
Accept no less. Become familiar with the space where compromise is unkind. Nurture your exquisite loneliness. Let it teach you. Light candles at every opportunity. Always wear perfume, it helps you remember yourself. Touch your inked ribs lightly when you forget who you are. ~ Jeanette LeBlanc

Once he could read and write he would have a mind fit to rule. So ran the democratic doctrine. But instead of a mind, universal literacy has given him rubber stamps, rubber stamps inked with advertising slogans, with editorials, with published scientific data, with the trivialities of the tabloids and the platitudes of history, but quite innocent of original thought. ~ Edward Bernays

Tossing it to a corner, he turns back to take my hand. And I'm facing the chest that I've not been able to dislodge from my brain for weeks. The one that instantly makes my breath hitch. The one that I've never had a chance to stare at so blatantly while sober. And I do stare now. Like a deer caught in headlights, I can't seem to turn away as I take in all the ridges and curves.
"What does that mean?" I ask, jutting my chin toward the inked symbol over his heart. Ashton doesn't answer. He avoids the question completely by sliding his thumb across my bottom lip.
"You have a bit of drool there, ~ K.A. Tucker

Eh? How 'bout that?" Bill nudged her. "Did I promise to show you love or did I promise to show you love?"
"Sure,they seem like they're in love." Luce shrugged. "But-"
"But what?Do you have any idea how painful that is? Look at that guy. He makes getting inked look like being caressed by a soft breeze."
Luce squirmed on the branch. "Is that the lesson here? Pain equals love?"
"You tell me," Bill said. "It may surprise you to hear this,but the ladies aren't exactly banging down Bill's door."
"I mean,if I tattooed Daniel's same on my body would that mean I loved him more than I already do?"
"It's a symbol,Luce." Bill let out a raspy sigh. "You're being too literal. Think about it this way: Daniel is the first good-looking boy LuLu has ever seen. Until he washed ashore a few months ago, this girl's whole world was her father and a few fat natives."
"She's Miranda," Luce said, remembering the love story from The Tempest, which she'd read in her tenth-grade Shakespeare seminar.
"How very civilized of you!" Bill pursed his lips with approval. "They are liek Ferdinand and Miranda: The handsome foreigner shipwrecks on her shores-"
"So,of course it was love at first sight for LuLu," Luce murmured. This was what she was afraid of: the same thoughtless,automatic love that had bothered her in Helston.
"Right," Bill said. "She didn't have a choice but to fall for him.But what's interesting here is Daniel. You see, he didn't have to teach he ~ Lauren Kate

A new darkness pulled away the room, inked out flesh and outlined bones. My mother was wide awake again. She become sharply herself - bone, wire, antenna - but she was not afraid. She had been pared down like this before, when she had travelled up the mountains into rare snow - alone in white not unlike being alone in black. She had also sailed a boat safely between land and land. ~ Maxine Hong Kingston

Nico looked very tall and thin wearing a opaque black sweatshirt hoodie and dark inked skinny jeans. His outer physical structure was handsome and gaunt, straight jet black hair razored and clipped in angles, a few purple highlights, and his white skin toned the color of alabaster. She had always liked the slender salamander type. He totally looked punk rock tonight, and that made him look absolutely awesome! A curtain of fog parted in front of him, giving him even more of the illusion as if he was part of a rock band at a rock band concert. Katty now saw Nico with exaggerated clarity. Nico Rocket looked so freakin' hot! He looked so good-looking at times, especially within the dark scenes of rolling fog and a pitchy darkness. She randomly wondered what he looked like before he was bit and turned into a Vampire. Had he been a Renaissance geek just like her? Before she could really examine him and fantasize of what he must have looked like before turning into a Vampire, the fog closed in all around him again, surrounding him with a ring of solitary imprisonment. He now lurked as a shadow among the shadows, disappearing into the illusion of gray's. She didn't like him for not showing up on time, but all had been forgiven as soon as she had seen him all dressed up in his Gothic best. So what if he didn't believe in punctuality? His hotness sure made up for the rest! Through the fog, she saw his bright red eyes pierce through the heaviness of the darkness. He then broke free from ~ Keira D. Skye

Brahma and Airavata
Long ago in lands of golden sand
Brahma turned to Saraswati
and gently kissed her inked hand ... ~ Muse

I reached for the prescription. In a vigorous scrawl, he inked: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes. Take ten pages, twice a day, till end of course. ~ Diane Setterfield

I guess the most epic romances are still tucked away within the pages of her favorite novels, safely swathed in inked lies and faded paper promises. Forever fictional. Just like love. ~ S.L. Jennings

<…>….That's how he made his living. He gave me a pen and ink. This," he lifted his left arm then dropped it back to the bed. "After he died, I had it inked on me. Took what he gave me to a tattoo parlor right after the funeral and got it started."
Her voice held a tone of light dawning as she whispered, "So he was your Ella."
Her light dawned clear for her and for Walker because she was right.
"Yeah, he was my Ella."
"So it was Tuku who brought out my Ty."
My Ty.
My Ty.
Christ. Fuck.
Christ.
Two words. Just two words. Walker had no clue until that moment that two words could mean so fucking much. He'd never belonged to anyone. He'd never belonged anywhere. Never thought he wanted to.
Until he heard those two words.
He couldn't keep the thick out of his voice when he confirmed, "Yeah, it was him."<…> ~ Kristen Ashley

l. She
dared one more quick look at the tat, but her attention soon
moved to the size of the muscle on which it had been inked.
Definitely leer-worthy. When he passed beside her on his
way toward the back of the room, she caught a whiff of sexy
aftershave and stifled a groan. Millicent was going to be all
a-twitter over him. Tara just knew it.
When she heard someone behind her whisper, "He's
sooo hot," she couldn't help but silently agree.
But it was another girl's answer that made her curious.
"Yeah . . . but no one in her right mind would mess with
him."
"Bethany did."
"But not for long."
"Yeah. Right."
Ahah. Bethany must be the girl glaring at him beside the
teacher's desk. ~ Sharon Sala

Printing meant arranging the letters into words, the words into perfectly straight lines, and the lines into even blocks of text to be inked and pressed onto paper or vellum. And each small step of the process, which sounds so mundane today, required invention. ~ Margaret Leslie Davis

Hearts get inked too but we don't get to choose the tattoo. ~ Sherihan Gamal

When I've decided what I want. I take it. And right now, I want you. I need you. I'm not abandoning you, and you're not leaving me. Not ever." … "You're inked in my soul, branded on my flesh, and carved in my bones. So trust me when I say. You're worth it, Ahrianna. ~ Demi Vice

Jake, if you could stand the idea of getting inked, you'd have a pink triangle tattooed across your chest. ~ Ashlyn Kane

This woman could make a saint sin. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

One can grow accustomed to carrying unseeable scars, as if the tattoo one wears is inked in flesh tone over flesh tone; but nevertheless one is still covered in secret, painted with secret, stained by it. ~ Lyndsay Faye

Babe, I'm inked into your skin, and you're pregnant with my baby. Your time to run away is long gone. ~ Elle Aycart

If I wanted to own some Jack Kirby original art unless it was something that Giacoia or Sinnott had inked I was too close to it. I didn't want to collect his pages inked by me. Of course 40 years later I'd LOVE to have some of that stuff. ~ Mike Royer

What came to mind was a dinosaur. A tiny velociraptor, no bigger than her thumb.
Relatively small, bur surprisingly ferocious.
When the hasty drawing was finished, he looked into Nova's face, but she was staring at the creature inked onto her palm. "He's adorable," she murmured.
He swallowed. "Here we go," he said swirling the pad of his finger over the drawing.
The creature roared to life... ~ Marissa Meyer

I'm also getting a piece of chocolate cake...
"Can I have a bite?" he asked, his voice smooth and sexy.
A bite of what? she wanted to ask, but didn't. She wasn't ready for that level of flirting. "Get your own slice, Gallagher."
"I can do that, Blake. I'm in the mood for something sweet it seems. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

You do know, right,
that between the no-

longer & the still-
to-come

you are being continually
tattooed, inked

with the skulls of
everyone

you've ever loved - the you
& the you

& the you & the you - you don't
sit in a chair, thumb

through a binder, pick a
design, it simply

happens each time you
bring your fingers to your face

to inhale him back into you . . .
tiny skulls, some of us are

covered. You, love, could

simply tattoo an open
door, light

pouring in from somewhere
outside, you

could make your body a door
so it appears you

(let her fill you) are made
of light. ~ Nick Flynn

Where, then, is any particular gene - say, the gene for long legs in humans? This is a little like asking where is Beethoven's Piano Sonata in E minor. Is it in the original handwritten score? The printed sheet music? Any one performance - or perhaps the sum of all performances, historical and potential, real and imagined? The quavers and crotchets inked on paper are not the music. Music is not a series of pressure waves sounding through the air; nor grooves etched in vinyl or pits burned in CDs; nor even the neuronal symphonies stirred up in the brain of the listener. The music is the information. Likewise, the base pairs of DNA are not genes. They encode genes. Genes themselves are made of bits. ~ James Gleick

If she pushes you, I thought, at last you will know. All of the reading and thinking you have done has pointed you toward a mystery of unspeakable size, and here it is, Snicket. Here's the dark thing you imagine very late, on very terrible nights. It has been beckoning you since you were a baby, when you emerged from the darkness of the womb. You didn't know it then, but from that moment on you would float toward another darkness, all the mysterious days and all the mysterious nights of your whole mysterious life. Here it is, Snicket. Listen for this mystery that has been stalking you since they first inked your ankle. ~ Lemony Snicket

He's lost everything once, and now, he wasn't sure if he had anything left to lose. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

... Even the idea of a city never entered his mind. It was as if he had walked under the millimeter of haze just above the inked fibers of a map, that pure zone between land and chart, between distances and legends, between nature and storyteller. The place they had chosen to come to, to be their best selves, to be unconscious of ancestry. Here, apart from the sun compass and the odometer mileage, and the book, he was alone, his own invention. He knew during these times how the mirage worked, the fata morgana, for he was within it. ~ Michael Ondaatje

What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen. ~ Cynthia Ozick

They are inked all over my skin;
The words I wish that I could have said,
The things I wish that I could have changed,
The wounds, the scars, the struggles, and all the names of those who once did me wrong.
The way I have it all written on my body has strengthened that soul of mine within,
It makes me unstoppable and much more proud of my journey, how far I've become, and of the woman I grew up to be… ~ Samiha Totanji

The shelf number for the book would be inked in beside it, but each shelf contained about fifty books, so you had to hang there on the ladder and read every spine of every one until you came across yours.
Let it be said that nothing was ever accomplished in haste at Iverson. ~ Shana Abe

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. ~ Seamus Heaney

He recognized her deft hand and eye for detail immediately. He flipped through the pages, past vignettes of the dairymaid and her vague-featured gentleman engaged in a courtship of sorts: a kiss on the hand, a whisper in the ear. By the book's midpoint, the chit's voluminous petticoats were up around her ears, and the illustrations comprised a sequence of quite similar poses in varying locales. Not just the dairy, but a carriage, the larder, in a hayloft lit with candles and strewn with…were those rose petals?
I'll be damned.
Gray was fast divining the true source of the French painting master's mythic exploits. More unsettling by far, however, as he perused the book, he noted a subtle alteration in the gentleman lover's features. With each successive illustration, the hero appeared taller, broader in the shoulders, and his hair went from a cropped style to collar length in the space of two pages.
The more pages Gray turned, the more he recognized himself.
It was unmistakable. She'd used him as the model for these bawdy illustrations. She'd sketched him in secret; not once, but many times. And here he'd nearly gone mad with envy over each scrap of foolscap she'd inked for once crewman or another. His emotions underwent a dizzying progression-from surprised, to flattered, to (with the benefit of one especially inventive situation in an orchard) undeniably aroused.
But as he lingered over a nude study of this amalgam of the real him and some picaresque ~ Tessa Dare

Mr. Stone is a jackass."
That was Alex's greeting when he found me in the hall Friday afternoon.
"Probably," I agreed, levering myself out of the corner where I'd been waiting, on nervous Hannanda alert, for him to show up. "But I don't think he can help it."
"Generous of you." Alex swung his backpack from his left shoulder to his right, then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulled mine out of my hand. I was too surprised to stop him. "Allons-y."
We turned a few heads as we went. I would have happily met him a block away from school, but he'd preempted my cowardice, sliding a note into my locker that morning. Front hall, 3:15. I ignored the stares as Alex held the big front door open for me, my heavily inked bag dangling from his wrist. I figured any speculation would last only as long as it would take for us to hit the street in front of the school. By then, at least one "Wait. Wait. Alex Bainbridge left with Freddy Krueger?" would have been met with "Yeah. He's tutoring her in French. Winslow's making him. ~ Melissa Jensen

A printing press took the thoughts from someone's mind and inked them on to a piece of paper anyone might read. It was a kind of magic. A magic to alter the world. ~ Gita Trelease

It's how we work," his brother said simply. "I plan. Jake refines. Owen organizes. And you growl and grunt. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

Universal literacy was supposed to educate the common man to control his environment. Once he could read and write he would have a mind fit to rule. So ran the democratic doctrine. But instead of a mind, universal literacy has given him rubber stamps, rubber stamps inked with advertising slogans, with editorials, with published scientific data, with the trivialities of the tabloids and the platitudes of history, but quite innocent of original thought. Each man's rubber stamps are the duplicates of millions of others, so that when those millions are exposed to the same stimuli, all receive identical imprints. It may seem an exaggeration to say that the American public gets most of its ideas in this wholesale fashion. The mechanism by which ideas are disseminated on a large scale is propaganda, in the broad sense of an organized effort to spread a particular belief or doctrine. ~ Edward L. Bernays

He would enjoy exploring each and every inked line with his tongue. Yeah, Mr. Ball Cap would do just fine. ~ Kindle Alexander

His cock is inked. ~ Georgia Le Carre

Sometimes you have to go a little crazy before you can find sanity. I think I'm close. ~ Tawny Lara

I was born and raised on a Carolina sea island and I carried the sunshine of the low-country, inked in dark gold, on my back and shoulders. ~ Pat Conroy

He wrapped her hair around his fist, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Hard. She moaned into him, and he pulled away.
"Possessive much?" she asked on a laugh.
"Just making sure these hooligans know you're mine."
Her brow rose. "Really? Yours? Talk about caveman."
"I'm a Gallagher, baby, I'm as caveman as they come. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

Some hurts can never be mended" he said. "No matter how much time passes. They tattoo themselves on our souls ~ Yasmine Galenorn

You have to stand up real close to the posters to see the swirls, and even then they're easy to miss: Lila Mae had to have Jimmy point them out to her. Horns, boiling cysts, the occasional cussword inked in across Chancre's slat teeth - they add up after a while, somehow more personal and meaningful than the usual cartoons and pinups of office homesteading. ~ Colson Whitehead

I didn't like people rewriting my dialogue. I didn't like the fact that we'd start a comic with the Joker, and by the time we inked it, he would have turned into the Scarecrow. ~ Neil Gaiman

You didn't hurt me, babe," he said. "You marked me. Big difference. That night was the most important thing that's ever happened in my life. Holding you, catching Noah - it changed me forever. I didn't want to forget. So when the bruises started to fade, I went and got them inked, so I couldn't. ~ Joanna Wylde

The knuckles of his hand that had Shaw's name inked across them caught my eye. I pointed to them.
"You have her with you forever already, a ring isn't going to make that much of a difference, bro."
"I need to wait until she's done with school next semester. She needs to graduate and focus on starting med school. I don't want her worrying about me or a wedding while she does it. Honestly, talking to Lando made me start thinking about it. God, forbid something happened to me or to her. I want everyone on the planet to know how much she means to me. How she changed my life and made me want to be a better man for her and her alone. ~ Jay Crownover

He might kiss like a damn sex god and rev her engine like no other, but he clearly wasn't for her. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

Her walls were like mine, which was another part of the allure. I understood walls. They'd kept me safe from people most of my life. Only my Inked Armor crew got past them, and even then, I only let them into the rooms I wanted to. There were locked closets no one but me could enter. But by keeping my walls in place with Sarah, I'd created a distance I didn't know how to cross any more. ~ Helena Hunting

...The man who stood before her was taller and stranger than anyone she had ever encountered. His unkempt hair was a long dark brown, partially braided and twisted around twigs, the tips of his pointed ears poking between strands. His bare chest made her flush, but it was completely covered in green inked tattoos. Leather breeches creaked when he shifted. He held his hand out to her, uncurling fingers with long nails. "Aislin," he repeated, his voice gruff and purring, "do not be frightened. I have been waiting so long for you. ~ Lori J. Fitzgerald

What is art? Art is tar, rearranged. Art is tar on canvas or tar on tarp or tar on a naked body. Art is a bird chirping changed into something visual. Art is an image of a thousand beaks breaking into the office of a quack doctor. I know that doctor, and I've personally spoken to ten of those beaks. Art is rhythm, two hands clapping at a urinal while a third shakes off pee to the beat. Good art stays with you your whole life, especially if that good art is a tattoo. Good art is my name, written backwards, inked on your upper lip in a furry font. Art imitates life, just as life imitates Orafoura. Art can be anything from a Manet to a Monet to a painting of money to a missile. Art can save the world, or devastate it. (We could drop another big bomb on Japan, though I'm not advocating dumping Basquiat paintings on Hiroshima). Art rhymes with a bodily function, and everybody should let their creativity rip everywhere from the privacy of their bathrooms to small heated boxes with four of their closest friends. Art is thinking outside that box, and desperately trying to escape. ~ Jarod Kintz

She is my mate. And my spy,' I said too quietly. 'And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.'
'What?' Mor whsipered.
I caressed a mental finger down that bond now hidden deep, deep within us, and said, 'If they had removed her other glove, they would have seen a second tatoo on her right arm. The twin to the other. Inked last night, when we crept out, found a priestess, and I swore her in as my High Lady.' ( ... ) 'Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court.' My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child rearing. My queen. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Our marriage began
with knots and fangs;
vows inked on skin.
Black venom stained
our fingers, twinned
snakes strangling
the marriage vein
in Celtic macramé –
cocksure monogamy.

We became one,
me and the gun,
the serpent reeling
itself from the needle.
I had few firsts left;
marriage a wild west
for the hedonist.

Snakes unspooled
like figure-eights,
symbols of eternity.
Acrimony, alimony;
Leave the moaning
to adults. We children
will be wiser
wed, inoculated –
these hickeys,
homeopathy. ~ Jalina Mhyana

The colour of the sea and the sky
Are both blue and yet distinct
One depends on the other
And, the other is by love inked… ~ Neelam Saxena Chandra

He's not doing anything to your shop. Just look at him, acting like a big baby that can't get the toy it wants." He shook his head and rolled back to his stomach.
"These guys don't fuck around. You know that. You must have inked at least a few." Travis went back to tattooing, but kept looking back to the door. "Not to mention he's most probably in a closet so deep he's, like, in Narnia ~ K.A. Merikan

It's 2 lines. Font like a typewriter inked across the very bottom of his torso.
hell is empty
and all the devils are here
Yes. Interesting. Yes. Sure. I think I need to lie down. "Books," he's saying, pulling his boxer-briefs up and rezipping his pants, "are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them. Tattoos, for example, are very hard to forget. ~ Tahereh Mafi

I kiss him like the fairytale prince that every girl wants. His horse might be black instead of white and he isn't blonde haired and blue eyed, but damn, he has butterflies inked into his skin and birds on his back, an eyebrow and a lip ring and words of wisdom peppered with the foulest fucking language known to man. I would take Ty McCabe over a knight in shining armor any day. ~ C.M. Stunich

She wouldn't want to be caught on his bad side - assuming he had a good side - yet the naughty bad boy vibes were like an undercurrent pulling her in.
Don't-mess-with-me meets I-dare-you-to-resist. ~ Kelly Moran

I did get a nice compliment from Ramona Fradon a few years ago.She was talking about the one and only Plastic Man comic that I inked for her for DC and she said it was the only time that she'd ever had anyone ink her. Everyone else put in their own personality and changed it. In fact, bless her heart, she said if she were still doing Brenda Starr, she'd have me ink it. ~ Mike Royer

I liked this. For once, I'm not boring, safe, and predictable little Piper. I've walked willingly into the depths of the unknown, which comes under the guise of inked arms and a beautiful voice. He's my first taste of wild, and he's nothing short of delicious. ~ Carian Cole

A good tattoo always has a story that runs deeper than the skin, and Inked tells that story. ~ Tara Dakides

The night following the reading, Gansey woke up to a completely unfamiliar sound and fumbled for his glasses. It sounded a little like one of his roommates was being killed by a possum, or possibly the final moments of a fatal cat fight. He wasn't certain of the specifics, but he was sure death was involved.
Noah stood in the doorway to his room, his face pathetic and long-suffering. "Make it stop," he said.
Ronan's room was sacred, and yet here Gansey was, twice in the same weak, pushing the door open. He found the lamp on and Ronan hunched on the bed, wearing only boxers. Six months before, Ronan had gotten the intricate black tattoo that covered most of his back and snaked up his neck, and now the monochromatic lines of it were stark in the claustrophobic lamplight, more real than anything else in the room. It was a peculiar tattoo, both vicious and lovely, and every time Gansey saw it, he saw something different in the pattern. Tonight, nestled in an inked glen of wicked, beautiful flowers, was a beak where before he'd seen a scythe.
The ragged sound cut through the apartment again.
"What fresh hell is this?" Gansey asked pleasantly. Ronan was wearing headphones as usual, so Gansey stretched forward far enough to tug them down around his neck. Music wailed faintly into the air.
Ronan lifted his head. As he did, the wicked flowers on his back shifted and hid behind his sharp shoulder blades. In his lap was the half-formed raven, its head tilted bac ~ Maggie Stiefvater

This wouldn't be the first time Stitch woke up in someone else's bed, but he already anticipated an unnaturally high level of awkwardness, and all his senses screamed for him to pick up his stuff and run. On the other hand, it wouldn't be enough to just run. As girly as this bedroom was, with its pinks and baby blues, with the dried flowers in a huge vase, the room belonged to a guy, and nothing could erase what Stitch had done the night before. The logical part of his brain kept suggesting that since he already went for it, fucked Zak like a bunny in heat, then he might as well continue because there was no taking it back. If the guy knew how to keep quiet, Stitch could finally have a hot guy to fuck. Not to mention the mind-blowing head Zak had given him. He'd love to have that inked up body under him again ~ K.A. Merikan

It was Dominick Gleeson, aka Big Dom, editor of the city's only newspaper, the Bohane Vindicator. Of course, it was in no small part thanks to Logan Hartnett that the Vindicator remained the city's only newspaper. Its masthead solgan: 'Truth or Vengeance', as inked above a motif of two quarrelling ravens. ~ Kevin Barry

Dante: Want me to get your name inked on me? How about on my arm?
Jamie: No. That's boring.
Dante: How about over my heart then?
Jamie: No. That's corny.
Dante: Is not.
Jamie: Is too.
Dante: We'll discuss it later. ~ Suzanne Wrightt

The library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the combined smell of worn leather bindings, library past and freshly inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass. ~ Betty Smith

We're kissing in the rain.' Her voice was hard and soft at the same time. Like the velvet armchairs. Like the black rain inked on his hand. ~ Deborah Levy

Between the inked-up, rough-and-tumble Mick and Adam, the debonair dom, she was totally screwed. But like, in a good way. This sort of thing they made together was a sort of magic, and there was nothing she could do but love it as much as she loved them. ~ Lauren Dane

Her sense of style was juvenile and horrid, and the back of her hand was still inked with a cherry blossom tree she'd drawn in English Lit, so why the fuck was she still hot as shit?
Didn't matter. I hated her anyway.
But her apparent devotion to trying not to be sexy, paired with the fact that she actually was sexy, always made me hard as stone. ~ L.J. Shen

If all of our sins, bad habits, and poor choices were permanently inked into our skin like tattoos, we would all dress quite modestly. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Entering the office, Evie found Sebastian and Cam on opposite sides of the desk. They both mulled over account ledgers, scratching out some entries with freshly inked pens, and making notations beside the long columns. Both men looked up as she crossed the threshold. Evie met Sebastian's gaze only briefly; she found it hard to maintain her composure around him after the intimacy of the previous night. He paused in mid-sentence as he stared at her, seeming to forget what he had been saying to Cam. It seemed that neither of them was yet comfortable with feelings that were still too new and powerful. Murmuring good morning to them both, she bid them to remain seated, and she went to stand beside Sebastian's chair.
"Have you breakfasted yet, my lord?" she asked.
Sebastian shook his head, a smile glinting in his eyes. "Not yet."
"I'll go to the kitchen and see what is to be had."
"Stay a moment," he urged. "We're almost finished."
As the two men discussed a few last points of business, which pertained to a potential investment in a proposed shopping bazaar to be constructed on St. James Street, Sebastian picked up Evie's hand, which was resting on the desk. Absently he drew the backs of her fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear while contemplating the written proposal on the desk before him. Although Sebastian was not aware of what the casual familiarity of the gesture revealed, Evie felt her color rise as she met Cam's gaze over her husband ~ Lisa Kleypas