One Door Away From Heaven Quotes

I can do what I need to do. I can get where I want to go, no matter how hard it is. ~ Dean Koontz

One door away from heaven
And the key is ours to lose.
One door away from heaven
But oh, the entry dues. ~ Dean Koontz

Don't pack your bags just yet, stay awhile,
Don't try to run away to higher ground,
You're in my twisted clouds of sad misfortune,
And you are such an entertaining crowd!
(I've never had such cheerful toys to play with...)
Forget I said that – just a little natural disaster Humour,
Ha-ha-ha.

Pull up a rusty lawn chair
On the waterfront in New Orleans,
And ignore the wind that howls,
Things aren't always as they seem.
I can smell fear in the air,
Fresh amidst the cornbread steam,
Forgive me if I sound excited,
(I'm going to be famous, you know!)
And let me take your money, please!

I'll drown your family, hunt down your pets,
I've got tricks that I've never even tried yet,
And it's so easy when I get the chance!
(I'll swipe your house in just one glance!)

As the saying goes, it all comes out in the wash,
But I'm the only wash that leaves no stone unturned,
Financial devastation is my middle name,
And social degradation is my third!

You, little boy from the bayou bank,
You used to fish for pointless fun
(I can appreciate having fun),
But after I go, you'll find your parents poor,
You'll have eviction notices on your door,
You'll have to sell any fish you can catch,
In a desperate grasp for money,
Although I hate to break it to you,
That bayou's polluted, honey!
I see nothing in your future ~ Rebecca McNutt

Flauvic was standing by the middle window, one slim hand resting on a golden latch. I realized that one window panel was, in fact, a door, and that a person could step through onto the rocks that just bordered the pool. Flauvic was looking down, the silvery light reflecting off rain clouds overhead, and water below throwing glints in his long golden hair.
He had to know I was there.
I said, "You do like being near to water, don't you?"
He looked up quickly. "Forgive me for not coming to the door," he said directly--for him. "I must reluctantly admit that I have been somewhat preoccupied with the necessity of regaining my tranquility."
I was surprised that he would admit to any such thing. "Not caused by me, I hope?" I walked across the fine tiled floor.
He lifted a hand in a gesture of airy dismissal. "Family argument," he said. Smiling a little, he added, "Forbearance is not, alas, a hallmark of the Merindar habit of mind."
Again I was surprised, for he seemed about as forbearing as anyone I'd ever met--but I was chary of appearing to be a flatterer, and so I said only, "I'm sorry for it, then. Ought I to go? If the family's peace has been cut up, I suppose a visitor won't be welcome."
Flauvic turned away from the window and crossed the rest of the floor to join me. "If you mean you'd rather not walk into my honored parent's temper--or more to the point, my sister's--fear not. They departed early this morning to our family's estates. I am q ~ Sherwood Smith

I'm sorry l haven 't talked to you in so long.
I feel l've been lost... no bearings, no compass. I kept crashing into things, a little crazy, I guess. l've never been lost before. You were my true north.

l could always steer for home when you were my home. Forgive me for being so angry when you left. l still think some mistake's been made... and l'm waiting for God to take it back.

But l'm doing better now. The work helps me. Most of all, you help me.

You came into my dream last night with that smile that always held me like a lover... rocked me like a child. All l remember from the dream is a feeling of peace. l woke up with that feeling and tried to keep it alive as long as l could.

l'm writing to tell you that l'm on a journey toward that peace. And to tell you l'm sorry about so many things. l'm sorry l didn't take better care of you so that you never spent one minute being cold or scared or sick.

I'm sorry I didn't try harder to find the words to tell you what I was feeling.

I'm sorry I never fixed the screen door. I fixed it now.

I'm sorry I ever fought with you. I'm sorry I didn't apologize more.
I was too proud.

I'm sorry I didn't bring you more compliments on everything you wore and every way you fixed your hair.

I'm sorry I didn't hold on to you with so much strength that even God couldn't pull you away.


All my love. ~ Nicholas Sparks

How are you going to get in?" Stokes asked anxiously.
"I shall try the windows first, I think," Radcliffe said with a frown as he straightened out his skirts. "I fear using the front door would be too much of a risk."
"Aye," Stokes said, then, "My lord, you ... er ... your purpose may be better served did you try to ... er ... keep your face turned away from anyone you encounter."
"Aye," Elizabeth agreed encouragingly. "And mayhap if you tried not to look quite so tall, you might be able to avoid some unwanted attention."
"And if anyone does approach and question you, you might merely cover your face with a handkerchief and titer."
Radcliffe blinked at that suggestion from Bessie. "I do not have a handkerchief."
"Oh!" Whipping one from her sleeve, Beth handed it to him as he got out of the carriage. "Good luck, my lord. I know you will save her. ~ Lynsay Sands

Arin heard the door to the barracks creak. The sound brought him immediately to his feet, for only one person would come to his cell this late at night. Then he heard the first heavy footfall, and his hands slackened around the metal bars. The footsteps coming were not hers. They belonged to someone big. Solid, slow. Probably a man.
Torchlight pulsed toward Arin's cell. When he saw who carried it, he pulled away from the bars. He saw a child's nightmare come to life.
The general set the torch in a sconce. He stared, taking in Arin's fresh bruises, his height, his features. The general's frown deepened.
This man didn't look like Kestrel. He was all mass and muscle. But Arin found her in the way her father lifted his chin, and his eyes held the same dangerous intelligence.
"Is she all right?" Arin said. When he received no response, he asked again in Valorian. And because he had already damned himself with a question he couldn't bear not to ask, Arin said something he had sworn he would never say. "Sir."
"She's fine."
A feeling flowed into Arin, something like sleep or the sudden absence of pain.
"If I had my choice, I would kill you," said the general, "but that would cause more talk. You'll be sold. Not right away, because I don't want to be seen reacting to a scandal. But soon.
"I'll be spending some time at home, and I will be watching you. If you come near my daughter, I will forget my better judgment. I will have you torn limb from ~ Marie Rutkoski

It's hard to tell
if we close our eyes or if night
opens in us other starred eyes,
if it burrows into the wall of our dream
till some other door opens.
But the dream
is only the flitting costume of one moment,
is spent in one beat
of the darkness,
and falls at our feet, cast off
as the day stirs and sails away with us."
-from "In the Tower ~ Pablo Neruda

Now that is a sword," Freddy said in awe as he went to look at an impressive saber hanging from the hat rack near the door.
"Stay away from it," she cautioned. "I'm sure it's sharper than yours."
As usual, Freddy ignored her. "Just think what I could do with this," he said as he lifted it off its hook.
"So far I haven't seen you do anything with a sword, my boy," Oliver remarked dryly. "Though I shudder to think what your cousin would attempt."
Maria glared at Oliver, which only made him laugh. Meanwhile, Freddy unsheathed the saber with a flourish.
"Curse it, Freddy, put it back," Maria ordered.
"What a fine piece of steel." Freddy swished it through the air. "Even the one Uncle Adam gave me isn't near so impressive."
Maria appealed to Oliver. "Do something, for pity's sake. Make him stop."
"And get myself skewered for the effort? No, thank you. Let the pup have his fun."
Freddy cast him a belligerent glance. "You wouldn't call me a pup if I came at you with this."
"No, I'd call you insane," Oliver drawled. "But you're welcome to try and see what happens."
Don't encourage him," Maria told Oliver.
The door opened suddenly, and Freddy whirled with the sword in hand, knocking a lamp off the desk. As the glass chimney shattered, spilling oil in a wide arc, the wick lit the lot, and fire sprang to life.
Maria jumped back with a cry of alarm while Oliver leaped out of his chair to stamp it out, first with his boots a ~ Sabrina Jeffries

But truly, the Autumn Provinces provide the most ideal situation for our program. Autumn is the very soul of metamorphosis, a time when the world is poised at the door of winter - which is the door of death - but has not yet fallen. It is a world of contradictions: a time of harvest and plenty but also of cold and hardship. Here we dwell in the midst of life, but we know most keenly that all things must pass away and shrivel. Autumn turns the world from one thing into another. The year is seasoned and wise but not yet decrepit or senile. If you wrote a letter of requisition, you could ask for no better place to practice alchemy. ~ Catherynne M. Valente

Lend stood staring blankly at the shelves of food. Arianna had sneaked upstairs to eat - or rather, drink - in private. "I have no idea what to make. I'm too exhausted to think."
"You have no right to be tired. And I never want to see you asleep ever again. I had enough of that for a lifetime these past few days."
"Allow me to take over," Jack said, striding into the kitchen. He nudged Lend out of the way and started pulling out a huge pile of ingredients.
"Can you even cook?"
"If Lend had let me make him an omelet earlier, that question would already be answered."
Lend sat next to me, leaning over and putting his arm under my head as a pillow against the counter. "Remind me again why we trust him now?"
"Because we need all the help we can get. And I think he really is sorry. And a lot of people are going to depend on him of all the faeries leave."
Jack furiously chopped vegetables. "Captain Dependable! Wait, we vetoed that one. The Divine Door Maker? Too much? Hmm . . . Handsome Hero, but maybe I should move away from alliteration. Something sleek. Our Lord and Master Jack."
Lend rolled his eyes and gave me a seriously-can-I-just-beat-him-to-a-pulp look. ~ Kiersten White

Violet didn't realize that she'd pressed herself so tightly against the door until it opened from the inside and she stumbled backward.
She fell awkwardly, trying to catch herself as her feet slipped and first she banged her elbow, and then her shoulder-hard-against the doorjamb. She heard her can of pepper spray hit the concrete step at her feet as she flailed to find something to grab hold of.
Her back crashed into something solid. Or rather, someone. And from behind, she felt strong, unseen arms catch her before she hit the ground. But she was too stunned to react right away.
"You think I can let you go now?" A low voice chuckled in her ear.
Violet was mortified as she glanced clumsily over her shoulder to see who had just saved her from falling.
"Rafe!" she gasped, when she realized she was face-to-face with his deep blue eyes. She jumped up, feeling unexpectedly light-headed as she shrugged out of his grip. Without thinking, and with his name still burning on her lips, she added, "Umm, thanks, I guess." And then, considering that he had just stopped her from landing flat on her butt, she gave it another try. "No…yeah, thanks, I mean."
Flustered, she bent down, trying to avoid his eyes as she grabbed the paper spray that had slipped from her fingers. She cursed herself for being so clumsy and wondered why she cared that he had been the one to catch her. Or why she cared that he was here at all.
She stood up to face him, feeling more comp ~ Kimberly Derting

Yes?" Came the thin and reedy voice.

I winced as I pushed the door open. Beth sounded terrible. And when I got an eyeful of her, she looked just as bad. Sitting up against the headboard with a mountain of blankets piled around her, she had dark circles under her eyes. Her pale, waiflike features were sharp, and her hair was an unwashed, tangled mess. I tried not to breathe too deeply, because the room smelled of vomit and sweat.

I halted at the bed, shocked to my core. "Are you sick?"

Her unfocused gaze drifted away from me, landing on the door to the adjoined bathroom, it didn't make sense. Hybrids - we couldn't get sick. Not the common cold or the most dangerous cancer. Like the Luxen, we were immune to everything out there in terms of disease, but Beth? Yeah, she wasn't looking too good.

A great sense of unease blossomed in my belly, stiffening my muscles. "Beth?"

Her watery stare finally drifted to me. "Is Dawson back yet?"

My heart turned over heavily, almost painfully. The two of them have been through so much, more than Daemon and I had, and this . . . God, this wasn't fair. "No, he's not back yet, but you? You look sick."

She raised a slim, pale hand to her throat. "I'm not feeling very well."

I didn't know how bad this was, and I was almost afraid to find out. "What's wrong?"

One shoulder rose, and it looked like it had taken great effort. "You shouldn't be worried," sh ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

I bent down over my neighborhood, taking in the people there. At first, they'd just seemed arranged the same way they were everywhere else: in random formations, some in groups, some alone. Then, though, I saw the single figure at the back of my house, walking away from the back door. And another person, a girl, running through the side yard, where the hedge would have been, while someone else, with a badge and flashlight followed. There were three people under the basketball goal, one lying prone on the ground.

I took a breath, then moved in closer. Two people were seated on the curb between Dave's and my houses: a few inches away two more walked up the narrow alley to Luna Blu's back door. A couple stood in the driveway, facing each other. And in that empty building, the old hotel, a tiny set of cellar doors had been added, flung open, a figure standing before them. Whether they were about to go down, or just coming up, was unclear, and the cellar itself was a dark square. But I knew what was down below.

He'd put me everywhere. Every single place I'd been, with him or without, from the first time we'd met to the last conversation. It was all there, laid out as carefully, as real as the buildings and streets around it. I swallowed, hard, then reached forward, touching the girl running through the hedge. Not Liz Sweet. Not anyone, at that moment, not yet. But on her way to someone. To me. ~ Sarah Dessen

And whatever you do, do not break the mirror."
Without looking away from Mari, Bowe asked, "Why no'?" This seemed an ideal solution to him.
Jillian murmured, "The shock could . . . it could kill her."
No' ideal.
"I want to be alone with her," Bowe said.
She nodded. "We're going to the binding ceremony. Good luck, Bowen."
After they closed the door, Bowe could still hear Mari's father say, "Jill, why are you so confident in MacRieve?"
"Because he won't ever rest until he has her back with him," she replied before they descended the stairs.
Alone with Mari, Bowe said, "Lass, we're about to take a break from the mirror for a bit. How am I to marry you in front of all those witches in an eerie, embarrassing ceremony if you will no' look away?"
No reaction.
He put his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, closing his eyes with pleasure just to be close to her once more.
"Doona wish to turn from your glass? Verra well. Then ask it some questions while you're here. Ask it how much your Lykae's missed you."
Had she blinked?
At her other ear, he murmured, "Ask it who Bowe loves."
Her lips parted. Her body seemed to begin thrumming, as if she was struggling with everything she had in her to be free.
"Aye, that's right. Ask it who's the only one Bowe's ever been in love with." He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze in the mirror. "And the last question w ~ Kresley Cole

What's got you smilin' like a bitch who just had good cock?" I was interrupted by a sexy drawl.
I looked up to see Nash leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of him, sexy smirk plastered on his face. He was tall, all muscle and ink; he exuded a couldn't-give-a-fuck attitude. Nash was one of the cockiest men I had ever met and the women flocked to him.
I rolled my eyes. "Can a woman not smile unless she's had cock?" I asked.
He uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the door frame; coming towards me, "No, sweet thing, it all comes down to cock."
"Well, I hate to tell you, Nash, but this woman hasn't had any today, and yet I am still smiling. I think your theory is a little off." I loved bantering back and forth with him.
He raised his eyebrows. "J's fallin' down on the job there sweetheart. You sure you don't want to jump ships? I've got all you'll ever need," he grinned at me, opening his arms wide in an inviting gesture. ~ Nina Levine

Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."

Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills. (last lines) ~ Kate Chopin

There are human boys here somewhere?" Zoey asked.
Aurox's face scrunched up as he frowned at her. "Not here. Outside - out there. " He pointed in the general direction of the door to the field house behind them.
"Outside the field house!" she almost yelled.
"Zo, sometimes I think you don't listen so good," Aurox said. Still frowning at her, he continued speaking slowly, as if trying to get her to understand a foreign language.
"Two boys. Outside the wall. With the keg. And cups. They. Want. Hot. Vampyre. Chicks."
"Okay, I think I get it." Stark grabbed Aurox's arm and started to drag him toward the door and away from Z
before she went for his throat, although that would have been funny as hell. "You found two kids, with beer, trying to get over the wall, right?"
"See, you listen better." Aurox patted him on the back, almost knocking Stark over. "But they're just looking through the hole for vampyre pussy, not trying to get over the wall."
"If you say pussy one more time I'm going to smack the crap out of you," Zoey said, coming after them.
"You can't come!" Aurox stumbled to a stop. "You have legs and tits!"
"Oh. My. Goddess. I'm going to kill him!" Stark stepped between the two of them. He faced Zoey.
She'd gone from pale to bright red in zero-point-nothing seconds. "Z, I think this is something that a Warrior needs to handle."
Behind him, Aurox belched, sending a wave of beer air wafting over them.
Zoey narrow ~ Kristin Cast

Hello, freak," Drake said.
Lana backed away, but too late. Drake leveled his gun at her.
"I'm right-handed. 'Least I used to be. But I can still hit you from this distance."
"What do you want?"
Drake motioned toward the stump of his right arm. It was gone from just above the elbow. "What do you think I want?"
The one time she'd seen Drake Merwin, he had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark's grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance.
"I'll try," Lana said.
"You'll do more than try," he said. He convulsed in pain, face scrunched. A low, eerie moan escaped his throat.
"I don't know if I can grow a whole arm back," Lana said. "Let me touch it."
"Not here," he hissed. He motioned with his gun. "Through the back door."
"If you shoot me, I can't help you," Lana argued.
"Can you heal dogs? How about if I blow his brains out? Can you heal that, freak? ~ Michael Grant

They began to invent humourless, glum jokes of their own and disastrous rumours about the destruction awaiting them at Bologna.
Yossarian sidled up drunkenly to Colonel Korn at the officers' club one night to kid with him about the new Lepage gun that the Germans had moved in.
'What Lepage gun?' Colonle Korn inquired with curiousity.
'The new three-hundred-and-forty-four-millimeter Lepage glue gun,' Yossarian answered. 'It glues a whole formation of planes together in mid-air.'
Colonel Korn jerked his elbow free from Yossarian's clutching fingers in startled affront. 'Let go of me, you idiot!' he cried out furiously, glaring with vindictive approval as Nately leaped upon Yossarian's back and pulled him away.
'Who is that lunatic anyway?'
Colonel Cathcart chortled merrily. 'That's the man you made me give a medal to after Ferrara. You had me promote him to captain, too, remember? It serves you right.'
Nately was lighter than Yossarian and had great difficulty maneuvering Yossarian's luching bulk across the room to an unoccupied table. 'Are you crazy?' Nately kept hissing with trepidation. 'That was Colonel Korn. Are you crazy?'
Yossarian wanted another drink and promised to leave quietly if Nately bought him one. Then he made Nately bring him two more. When Nately finally coaxed him to the door, Captain Black came stomping in from outside, banging his sloshing shoes down hard on the wood floor and spilling water from his eaves like a hig ~ Joseph Heller

Maybe the world was like a revolving door, it occurred to him as his consciousness was fading away. And which section you ended up in was just a matter of where your foot happened to fall ... And there was no logical continuity from one section to another. And it was because of this lack of logical continuity that choices really didn't mean very much. ~ Haruki Murakami

Outside, Her Ladyship coaxed her dog back toward the house, lifting both dog and cart up the few steps to her door. Gabe turned away from the window, rubbing his temples.
"The situation is untenable, and that makes the house unsellable. No one wants to live next to a barnyard. I've tried reasoning with her, but when it comes to those animals, she's surprisingly tenacious."
Tenacious, indeed. And sufficiently reckless to trespass in a house after midnight and recover a parrot from a near-naked stranger's shoulder.
However, even that degree of tenacity had poor odds against sheer ruthlessness. Lady Penelope Campion had a softness for animals. ~ Tessa Dare

SELF-HELP FOR FELLOW REFUGEES

If your name suggests a country where bells
might have been used for entertainment,

or to announce the entrances and exits of the seasons
and the birthdays of gods and demons,

it's probably best to dress in plain clothes
when you arrive in the United States.
And try not to talk too loud.

If you happen to have watched armed men
beat and drag your father
out the front door of your house
and into the back of an idling truck,

before your mother jerked you from the threshold
and buried your face in her skirt folds,
try not to judge your mother too harshly.

Don't ask her what she thought she was doing,
turning a child's eyes
away from history
and toward that place all human aching starts.

And if you meet someone
in your adopted country
and think you see in the other's face
an open sky, some promise of a new beginning,
it probably means you're standing too far.

Or if you think you read in the other, as in a book
whose first and last pages are missing,
the story of your own birthplace,
a country twice erased,
once by fire, once by forgetfulness,
it probably means you're standing too close.

In any case, try not to let another carry
the burden of your own nostalgia or hope.

And if you're one of those
whose left side of the face does ~ Li-Young Lee

She slipped Glenn into her bed and then her face hung over Glenn's for one quiet moment, like a moon.
"Meera doe branagh, Glennora Morgan."
The strange words drifted down from her mother's lips, whispered as light as falling snow.
"What does it mean, Mommy?"
Fingertips grazed Glenn's cheek. "It means I love you. It means I'll always love you." She kissed Glenn softly on the forehead, then backed away. "No matter what."
She stepped into the bright hallway and closed the door.
When Glenn woke the next morning, her mother was gone ~ Jeff Hirsch

In such mysticism of prayer, the relationship of domination between God and humans has been transformed into one of love. That is precisely the mystical transformation that happens to prayer of supplication. The feudalistic patriarchal understanding of supplication often starts from the assumption that human beings have to go and knock on God's door and awaken "him" in order to present their petitions. The feudal lord then answers or refuses. If "he" has refused often enough even the most necessary things, the supplicant will go away and perhaps look elsewhere for salvation ...
Mystics have rarely cultivated the prayer of supplication; they have worked at a relationship based on mutuality. ~ Dorothee Solle

Whenever I am back in the neighborhood, I sometimes pass my apartment from the street. I like to believe, stupidly, that if I were to open the front door again, in the back I would find my roses, huge from their seaweed tea and the many days of six hours' sunlight, perhaps growing legs, ready to push down the building and walk out to the street, striking cars out of the way and slicing the blacktop to ribbons. I want to think that they would miss me, their erstwhile tormentor, the one who pushed them so hard to grow, cutting and soaking them in the blazing sun from spring to winter. From the street, from across the river, where I live now without them, I can feel them still, the sap pulsing in their veins, pushing their way to the sky.

But the creature that grew legs and walked away from the garden was me. I was not their gardener. They were mine. ~ Alexander Chee

Logan couldn't remember when a few drinks became a bottle and then two bottles every night. He couldn't point to one single moment or event as the cause. From his first drink at fourteen, alcohol began soaking into his skin, the moisture rotting him on the inside. Every few years he'd use a chisel to hack away all the wet, unsound wood without trying to find the source of the moisture. The rot always came back, stronger than before. ~ J.D. Ruskin

The front door is locked - what's up with that?"

"Logan fixed the lock," I tell her.

Her bright red, heart-shaped mouth smiles. "Good job, Kevin Costner. You should staple the key to Ellie's forehead, though, or she'll lose it."

She has names for the other guys too and when her favorite guard, Tommy Sullivan, walks in a few minutes later, Marlow uses his. "Hello, Delicious." She twirls her honey-colored, bouncy hair around her finger, cocking her hip and tilting her head like a vintage pinup girl.

Tommy, the fun-loving super-flirt, winks. "Hello, pretty, underage lass." Then he nods to Logan and smiles at me. "Lo . . . Good morning, Miss Ellie."

"Hey, Tommy."

Marlow struts forward. "Three months, Tommy. Three months until I'm a legal adult - then I'm going to use you, abuse you and throw you away."

The dark-haired devil grins. "That's my idea of a good date." Then he gestures toward the back door. "Now, are we ready for a fun day of learning?"

One of the security guys has been walking me to school ever since the public and press lost their minds over Nicholas and Olivia's still-technically-unconfirmed relationship. They make sure no one messes with me and they drive me in the tinted, bulletproof SUV when it rains - it's a pretty sweet deal.

I grab my ten-thousand-pound messenger bag from the corner.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Elle - you should hav ~ Emma Chase

Look, I'm sorry, Jemma. It took me forever to get there, what with all the flooding and everything. And then I was trying to clean stuff up and…well, I guess the time just got away from me."
I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says.
"Well, you did scare me." I manage to pull one hand loose, and I use it to whack him in the chest. "Idiot!"
"I'm fine, okay? I'm here."
"I wish you weren't!" I yell, fired up now. "I wish you were lying in a ditch somewhere!" I stumble backward, my heel catching on the porch's floorboards.
"You don't mean that," Ryder says, sounding hurt.
He's right; I don't. But I don't care if I hurt his feelings. I'm too angry to care. Angry and relieved and pissed off and…and, God, I'm so glad he's okay. I thump his chest one more time in frustration, and then somehow my lips are on his--hungry and demanding and punishing all at once.
I hear him gasp in surprise. His mouth is hot, feverish even, as he kisses me back. The ground seems to tilt beneath my feet. I stagger back toward the door, dragging him with me without breaking the kiss. Ryder's tongue slips between my lips, skimming over my teeth before plunging inside. And…
Oh. My. God. No one's ever kissed me like this. No one. His hands and his tongue and his scent and his body are pressed against mine…It's making me light-headed, dizzy. Electricity seems to skitter across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I cling to h ~ Kristi Cook

Now, tell me everything."
He chuckled and leaned against the door. "That's a comprehensive command! Where to begin?"
"With Galdran. How did he die?"
"Vidanric. Sword," Bran said, waving his index finger in a parry-and-thrust. "Just after Galdran tried to brain you from the back. Neatest work I've ever seen. He promised to introduce me to his old sword master when we get to Athanarel."
"'We'? You and the Marquis?"
"We can discuss it when we meet for supper, soon's he gets back. Life! I don't think he's sat down since we returned yestereve. I'm tied here by the heels, healer's orders, but there'll be enough for us all to do soon."
I opened my mouth to say that I did not want to go to Athanarel, but I could almost hear his rallying tone--and the fact, bitterly faced but true, that part of my image as the ignorant little sister guaranteed that Bran seldom took me seriously. So I shook my head instead. "Tell me more."
"Well, that's the main of it, in truth. They were all pretty disgusted--both sides, I think--when Galdran went after you. He didn't even have the courage to face me, and I was weavin' on my horse like a one-legged rooster. One o' his bully boys knocked me clean out of the saddle just after Galdran hit you. Anyway, Vidanric went after the King, quick and cool as ice, and the others went after Debegri--but he nearly got away. I say 'nearly' because it was one of his own people got him squarely in the back with an arrow--what's more, t ~ Sherwood Smith

Jack furiously chopped vegetables. Captain Dependable! Wait, we vetoed that one. The Divine Door Maker? Too much? Hmm ... Handsome Hero, but maybe I should move away from alliteration. Something sleek. Our Lord and Master Jack. ~ Kiersten White

Fritz."
The butler rushed over from the crudité arrangement he was working on. "Yes, master! I am eager to be of aid."
"Take this." iAm peeled the cat off himself, prying both of its front claws out of his fleece. "And do whatever it is you do with it."
As he turned away, he felt like glancing back and making sure G*dd*mn was okay.
But why the fuck would he do that?
He had to get to Sal's and check on his staff. Usually he hit the restaurant in the early afternoon, but shit had not been "usual," what with that migraine: Every time his brother had one, they both got a headache. Now, though, with Trez rebounding and no doubt soon to be on the grind with that Chosen, it was time to get back on his own track. If only to keep himself from going psychotic.
Jesus Christ, Trez was now going to fuck that female. And God only knew where that was going to land them all.
Just as he hit the exit, he called out over his shoulder, "Fritz."
Through the din of First Meal prep, the doggen answered back, "Yes, master?"
"I never find any seafood in this place. Why is that?"
"The King does not favor any manner of fin."
"Would he allow it in here?"
"Oh, yes, master. Just not upon his table, and certainly never upon his plate."
iAm stared at the panels of the door in front of him. "I want you to get some fresh salmon and poach it. Tonight."
"But of course. I will not have it ready afore First Meal for you - "
~ J.R. Ward

Three heavy blows boxed him low in the back. He saw a splash of red hit the door and had time to think, 'We should have remembered the body armor.' Then he crumpled, still holding onto the knob with one hand as the world rushed away from him. Everything he was and everything he'd ever known diminished to a single burning-bright point of light. Then it went out. His hand slipped off the knob. He died on his knees, leaning against the door. ~ Stephen King

Autumn is the very soul of metamorphosis, a time when the world is poised at the door of winter - which is the door of death - but has not yet fallen. It is a world of contradictions: a time of harvest and plenty but also of cold and hardship. Here we dwell in the midst of life, but we know most keenly that all things must pass away and shrivel. Autumn turns the world from one thing into another. The year is seasoned and wise but not yet decrepit or senile. ~ Catherynne M Valente

There is still time to veer, to sally forth, knapsack on back, for unknown hills over which ... only the wind knows what lies. Shall she, shall she veer? There will be time, she says, knowing that in her beginning is her end and the seeds of destruction perhaps now dormant may even today begin sprouting malignantly within her. She turns away from action in one direction to that in another, knowing all the while that some day she must face, behind the door of her choosing, perhaps the lady, perhaps the tiger ... ~ Sylvia Plath

She had sworn to herself not to speak to Arin, but then he said, "You're coming with me to the harbor."
This surprised her into saying, "To do what? Why not lock me up in the barracks? It would be a perfect prison for your prize."
He continued to walk her down the halls of her home. "Unless Cheat changes his mind about you."
Kestrel imagined the auctioneer unlocking her cell door. "I suppose I'm no good to you dead."
"I would never let that happen."
"What a touching concern for Valorian life. As if you hadn't let your leader kill that woman. As if you're not responsible for the death of my friends."
They stopped before the door to Kestrel's suite. Arin faced her. "I will let every single Valorian in this city die if it means that you don't."
"Like Jess?" Her eyes swam with sudden, unshed tears. "Ronan?"
Arin looked away. The skin above his eye was beginning to blacken from where she had kicked him. "I spent ten years as a slave. I couldn't be one anymore. What did you imagine, tonight, in the carriage? That it would be fine for me to always be afraid to touch you?"
"That has nothing to do with anything. I am not a fool. You sold yourself to me with the intention of betrayal."
"But I didn't know you. I didn't know how you--"
"You're right. You don't know me. You're a stranger."
He flattened a palm against the door.
"What about the Valorian children?" she demanded. "What have you done with them? Have they been poi ~ Marie Rutkoski

When we get older - when the steel door slams shut, in one way or another - we know that real suffering is measured by what's taken away from us. ~ Gregory David Roberts

After many years of knowing her, she died. Instead of leaving me with a heartbreak, she left behind wonderful memories. Memories of teasing me and pretending to fall asleep when I walk into her room. There are no tears to be shed. Instead, I celebrated our friendship. Twenty-two years of smiles and laughter. Unhurried narration of her life stories and hugs. Rewarding me with birthday cards and Christmas greetings. Scolding me with a smile before each departure, and winks by the door before she left my office. Each time, I stood and watched her struggle to get into her car. Even with all her physical struggles, she never missed the chance to visit me every three months until she was taken away from me permanently. Her death. Her departure from earth. As much as I struggle with the event, I would not call it untimely. I said my farewell, but I still cherish what we had. A sempiternal friendship ~ Fidelis O. Mkparu

I am living in hell from one day to the next. But there is nothing I can do to escape. I don't know where I would go if I did. I feel utterly powerless, and that feeling is my prision. I entered of my own free will, I locked the door, and I threw away the key. ~ Haruki Murakami

I thought of the words the old witch had used to summon the sword on previous occasions. While stepping backwards with the intent of putting the table between Thaddeus and myself, I voiced the spell aloud.

"Grim dettarias, ee Duvalla swen areir!"

My trusted weapon appeared from out of nowhere, the hilt grasped tight within my fingers. Without delay, I pointed the tip of the blade at my enemy.

"Move away from the door and let me leave this place."

"Oh, Catherine…"

"Don't breathe that wicked name again!" I angrily ordered. Thaddeus closed his mouth, and his eyes scrunched the slightest bit, never shifting from me.

"I'll cut out your tongue if you mutter that awful name one more time," I threatened. I interpreted his frown as a sign that he believed I would make every effort to carry out that threat.

Using the sword as an extension of my arm, I gestured with a flick of the wrist, signaling for the swine standing between me and freedom to move aside and clear the exit. He failed to comply. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich