Seduced In The Dark Quotes

I wanted to say something, protest in some way, but then i felt the heat of him against the wetness i'd created, and i could've sworn i heard us sizzle. ~ Livvie ~ C.J. Roberts

My anger with him had grown as the hours had passed. I'd convinced myself when he came to get me i would really give him a piece of my mind. Of course - it's easy to be brave when the object of your fear isn't holding your sore nipples hostage. ~ Livvie ~ C.J. Roberts

You kidnapped me! You've humiliated me, beat me, nearly gotten me rapped, and just a moment ago you had me suck a complete stranger's dick in a room full of twisted perverts. I love you, but I'm not the coward, Caled. I deserve to live or die on my own fucking terms. ~ C.J. Roberts

Sometimes it was vanilla ... and he liked that too ~ C.J. Roberts

On many counts, taking a boy like Rudy Steiner was robbery
so much life, so much to live for
yet somehow, I'm certain he would have loved to see the frightening rubble and the swelling of the sky on the night he passed away. He'd have cried and turned and smiled if only he could have seen the book thief on her hands and knees, next to his decimated body. He'd have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty, bomb-hit lips.
Yes, I know it.
In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it all right.
You see?
Even death has a heart. ~ Markus Zusak

Vidal had his exuberant and stately tower in the most elegant and elevated part of Pedralbes, surrounded by hills, trees, and fairy-tale skies. I would have my sinister tower rising above the oldest, darkest streets of the city, surrounded by the miasmas and the shadows of that necropolis which poets and murderers had once called the Rose of Fire. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon

My dad would call me his Cuban princess because I had really dark olive skin because I was always in the sun; but I don't really go in the sun anymore, so that is why I am so white. ~ Bella Thorne

We all line up except for this guy in a wheelchair, Devyn. He smiles at me when I line up, introduces himself. He has a movie star smile, just white teeth and charisma, big eyes, dark skin. He'd be perfect looking if he didn't have such a large nose, but the truth is it looks good on him, natural and powerful. He winks at Issie, who blushes.
"You can do it, Is," he says.
She rolls her eyes, twists her lip, and says, "As long as I don't pass out."
"If you pass out, I'll put you in my lap and wheel you across the finish line," he says, and it somehow isn't sleazy because you can tell by his eyes how much he cares about Issie. I instantly like him.
She blushes worse. Her face looks like she's already sprinted a mile. ~ Carrie Jones

Putting out a newspaper without promotion is like winking at a girl in the dark
well-intentioned, but ineffective. ~ William Randolph Hearst

In the dark and the shadows where secrets lived, that was where Julian survived. It was how he had managed for years. ~ Cassandra Clare

She was scared Unprepared Lost in the dark Falling apart I can't survive Without you by my side We're gonna be alright This is what happens when Two worlds collide. ~ Demi Lovato

As I spun higher and faster and even more replete with every possible happiness, a great slamming sound rolled across me and I opened my eyes in a small dark room with no windows and a very hard concrete floor and walls and no idea of where it was or how I got there. A single small light burned above the door, and I was lying on the floor in the dim glow it cast. The happiness was gone, all of it, and nothing welled up to replace it other than a sense that wherever I might be, nobody had in mind restoring either my joy or my freedom. ~ Jeff Lindsay

There is in the human race some dark spirit of recalcitrance, always pulling us in the direction contrary to that in which we are reasonably expected to go. ~ Max Beerbohm

With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself - one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad. It was invested with the woe of unnumbered generations, this plaint by which Buck was so strangely stirred. When he moaned and sobbed, it was with the pain of living that was of old the pain of his wild fathers, and the fear and mystery of the cold and dark that was to them fear and mystery. ~ Jack London

Day leans in toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. "You're brilliant," he says. "But you're a fool to stay wish someone like me."
I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. "Then we're both fools. ~ Marie Lu

Her gaze fell on his lips, and she remembered the ointment in her basket. She bit her lower lip. Dare she?
A small smile formed on the man's mouth, and Serena reared back. Could he read her mind? Of course not, she chided herself. He was probably just feeling better- he'd certainly needed the water he had been able to ingest. Slowly, so as not to disturb his sleep, she leaned toward the basket on the floor and rummaged through it until her fingers wrapped around a little clay pot. It was in her lap and opened before she realized she had made her decision. She looked down at the ointment. Normally, she would have given it to the patient and allowed him to apply it himself, but this man clearly could not manage that. She dipped her finger into the pot before she could convince herself otherwise, the soothing smells of lemon and beeswax filling the space around them. Her hand stretched out toward his face, her heart pounding. What if he woke? How would she explain what she was doing? She dabbed a bit on his lower lip and sat back to see what response he would have. Nothing. He slept on. She nodded. She was a nurse; she could do this. Leaning in again, she quickly spread the ointment across his bottom lip. He moved his head away, as if avoiding a fly, but didn't wake. Determined to finish the job, she reached for the upper lip, which wasn't quite as chapped. It was softer and curved, dark rose in color with an indention in the middle that must be sinful, it was so well shape ~ Jamie Carie

I'm stuck here in a cycle and I am getting older but I am not growing up and my heart is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit that has gone bad or is soft because too many hands have squeezed it but then put it back down not because I am not ready but because they were not ready for my type of fruity flesh. I felt so ripe and sweet - what was off? The truth is, I was forcing myself into people's mouths. I jumped out of their hands and into their mouths and I yelled EAT ME way before they even had a chance to get hungry and notice me and lift me up. ~ Jenny Slate

De tall, dark vun
dere's nothing special about him at all," ter Borcht said dismissively of Fang, who hadn't moved since the doctor had come in.
Well, he's a snappy dresser," I offered. One side of Fang's mouth quirked. ~ James Patterson

I'll park somewhere dark." She fisted his T-shirt, not even ashamed of her desperation. "Out of the way - "
"Tempting ... so ... fucking ... tempting."
He gently peeled her hand away, slammed the door, and got in the driver's side. Then he turned to her, the harsh planes of his face in the shadows creating a savage expression the stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
"I need you in a bed tonight, Jillian. I need more than a fuck. I need to make love to you until neither one of us can move, because after tonight, I don't want there to be even the slightest doubt that you're mine. ~ Larissa Ione

The sun had reached the horizon, and the crickets slowed their chirping as the air began to cool. Sunset and sunrise, he thought, the edges of the day, were the only times you could see the sun move. It touched the top of the ridge and began to disappear. He reminded himself that it was the earth's rotation, that the sun itself only seemed to move, but what difference did that make? He felt he was watching time itself pass. The last bright quarter shrank to an eighth, a sixteenth, a point, and then nothing, the sun's dark negative lingering in his retina. ~ James A. McLaughlin

Say thus to thy Heart: My Heart! Canst thou tell a way to possess all Things in one point, in a Unity of Life?

Hast thou lookt on all Things at once, and seen them in a Harmony of Beauty?

Hast thou taken in the Tunes and Motions of all Things Created and Uncreated in a Concent of Pleasures?

Didst thou ever yet descry a glorious Eternity in each winged Moment of Time; a Bright Infiniteness in the narrow points of every dark Object?

Then thou knowest what the Spirit means, that Spire-top of Things, whither all ascend harmoniously, where they meet, and sit together recollected, and concentred in an Unfathom'd Depth of Glorious Life.

From hence thou lookest down, and seest all Flesh, as a heap of Single Dusts; Dark, though falling from the midst of a bright Flame; Divided, though laid together ~ Peter Sterry

Michael Freeman was thirty-five years old – a former Special Forces soldier turned policeman. He was a tall and slim black man, with grey-flecked hair and dark almond-shaped eyes. His smile was tight-lipped – half knowing and half strategic. It hid a mouthful of craggy teeth. A childhood in Detroit's East Side with an aggressive, alcoholic father had taught him to play things close to his chest, to look and listen. His colleagues knew him as a patient thinker, sedulous, missing nothing given time. Intellectually savvy and emotionally guarded, he exuded certitude. In Afghanistan, in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, he spent several weeks as a mounted outlier with the Northern Alliance in the Alma Tak Mountains, beyond the range of reinforcement or rescue – drinking filtered ditchwater and eating nuts scavenged from corpses – and calling down massive airstrikes on Taliban positions. He gained a certain reputation. Word spread the length of the Darya Suf River valley, through the Tiangi Gap to the stronghold at Mazar-i-Sharif that there was a monster loose in the mountains and the Taliban called him 'bor-buka', which seemed to mean black or devil or whirlwind, and, at times, all of these things. ~ Simon Conway

Rising, the woman who had carried the jar began to dance to the music of the rebab, fevered music that was like to the flashing of the recurved blade she flourished aloft. Ever the chimings of the red-gold finger cymbals slipped through, around, and over the exigent strains, and in a minute or three (though it had grown dark) the fluting notes of a syrinx joined them, an eerie piping, more distant far in time than space, that railed against death and the desert, and like a child forlorn sobbed of wildflowers. "Flitting ~ Gene Wolfe

I was a coward. I used to be haunted by the fear of thieves, ghosts and serpents. I did not dare to stir out of doors at night. Darkness was a terror to me. It was almost impossible for me to sleep in the dark, as I would imagine ghosts coming from one direction, thieves from another and serpents from a third. I could not therefore bear to sleep without a light in the room. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

And in our dark days, with so many threatening clouds on the horizon, he concluded, we puff up a story like this to drug people, to distract their
attention from the serious problems and
divert them with a Romeo-and-Juliet
story, one scripted, however, by a soap opera writer. ~ Andrea Camilleri

It's like watching a James Bond movie. Morpheus - in a black trench-coat-style blazer that hangs to his thighs, gray tweed pants, a dark gray vest, skinny red tie, and black pin-striped dress shirt - could pass for a punk-fae secret agent who's captured his villain. His thick blue waves touch his shoulders from under a gray tweed flat cap, and his wings drape down his back and across the floor, fluttering sporadically as he keeps his balance against Jeb's resistance. ~ A.G. Howard

Funny,' Will said, as they picked their way through. 'Things are absolutely awful and yet people look much happier than usual. Look at them all. Bubbling.'
'They are English,' Merriman said.
'Quite right,' said Will's father. 'Splendid in adversity, tedious when safe. Never content, in fact. We're an odd lot…. ~ Susan Cooper

When you sense that your dark night is one of pregnancy and oceanic return, you could react accordingly and be still. Watch and wonder. Take the human embryo as your model. Assume the fetal position, emotionally and intellectually. Be silent. Float in your darkness as if it were the waters of the womb, and give up trying to fight your way out or make sense of it. ~ Thomas Moore

Because it's in the nature of a gift, the offering and the reception, to create relationship and to overcome that which divides, one can't remain in the way of the gift and also definitively disassociate. When a gift occurs, we see ourselves in others, our very lives sustained by the grace of others, and we find we can hardly hold ourselves apart. The gift occasions communion, that wholeness for which we're all longing in one way or another most of the time. ~ David Dark

All the fear in the world, and the violence that comes from the fear, and the hatred that comes from the violence, and the lonliness that comes from the hatred. All the unhappiness, all the cruelty, it gathers like clouds in the air, and grows dark and cold and heavy, and falls like grey snow in thick layers over the land. Then the world is muffled and numb, and no one can hear each other or feel each other. Think how sad and lonely that must be. ~ William Nicholson

With an obscure hesitation one steps into the day and its frame and its costume. Between the puzzlement and its summary abandonment, between the folds of waking consciousness and their subsequent limitation, is a possible city. Solitude, hotels, aging, love, hormones, alcohol, illness – these drifting experiences open it a little. Sometimes prolonged reading holds it ajar. Another's style of consciousness inflects one's own; an odd syntactic manner, a texture of embellishment, pause. A new mode of rest. I can feel physiologically haunted by a style. It's why I read ideally, for the structured liberation from the personal, yet the impersonal inflection can persist outside the text, beyond the passion of readerly empathy, a most satisfying transgression that arrives only inadvertently, never by force of intention. As if seized by a fateful kinship, against all the odds of sociology, the reader psychically assumes the cadence of the text. She sheds herself. This description tends towards a psychological interpretation of linguistics, but the experience is also spatial. I used to drive home from my lover's apartment at 2 a.m., 3 a.m. This was Vancouver in 1995. A zone of light-industrial neglect separated our two neighbourhoods. Between them the stretched-out city felt abandoned. My residual excitement and relaxation would extend outwards from my body and the speeding car, towards the dilapidated warehouses, the shut storefronts, the distant container yards, the dark exercise stu ~ Lisa Robertson

Let your faith in the Universe deepen, purify and strengthen most on your troublesome, dark days. If you close your eyes in prayer, surrendering every problem and desire, you will find a way out without fail. ~ Pooja Ruprell

Represented purity, beauty, family, all of the things that had been taken from her. He was a glimmer of goodness in her dark fucking world, a warm spark she could hold, if only for a fleeting span of time. ~ Pepper Winters

You mentioned that Palermo, the part of Buenos Aires where you were brought up, had been a violent place full of bohemians and bandits. There they had two names for the knife, 'the blade' and 'the slicer'. The two names described the same object, but 'the blade' was the thing itself, and 'the slicer' described its function. 'The blade' could fit in the hand even of a sickly child shut up in his father's library, 'the blade' could be any of the superannuated daggers and swords belonging to his warrior grandfather or great-grandfather and displayed on the walls of his house, but 'the slicer', the knife in the hand slicing back and forth, in and out, existed only in his imagination, in a fascinating world of rapid settlings of accounts and duels over honor, an insult or a woman, in dark street where you never went, where no writer went, except in the literature he wrote.

'I've always felt that in order to be a great writer, one should have the experience of life at sea, which is why Conrad and Melville and, in a way, Stevenson, who ended his days in the South Seas, were better than all of us, Vogelstein. At sea, a writer flees from the minor demons and faces only the definitive ones. A character in Conrad says that he has a horror of ports because, in port, ships rot and men go to the devil. He meant the devils of domesticity and incoherence, the small devils of terra firma. But I think that having experience of "the slicer" would give a writer the same sensation as g ~ Luis Fernando Verissimo

Dreamers don't want to reveal their secrets to strangers, but they're eager to share them with friends. If you find yourself in the confidence of a dreamer, they'll readily share with you the many worlds they live in. They may even let you help shape some of them. - The Malwatch ~ Scaylen Renvac

Before there was an American Story, before Paterson spread before Oscar and Lola like a dream, or the trumpets from the Island of our eviction had even sounded, there was their mother, Hypatia Belicia Cabral: a girl so tall your leg bones ached just looking at her, so dark it was as if the Creatrix had, in her making, blinked. ~ Junot Diaz

He can learn things about me through your blood. Can learn about my sister!" She briefly covered her mouth. "He can see everything we've done! I don't want that leech to know what we do in private."
Lothaire strolled up, making a scoffing sound. "As if I don't watch you two live from a distance. ~ Kresley Cole

You've done a thing you can't clean up, found a place you can't reach with mop or apology. The forever you've created branches like the hairline fracture in a pelvic bone, hides like a dirty Polaroid stored under a mattress, rises like hot blood to burn cheeks pretty with shame. Places you didn't even know you were signing your name will always be marked by your hand, but despite every new day's resolution to never do it again, you will. You'll look away from your own face in the mirror, pull the chain twice to hide from yourself in the dark, and when it's all over you won't say anything. You won't fucking say anything to anyone ever. ~ Tupelo Hassman

my blood runs pink
(for my sexuality that is mine to embrace, not yours to strike
with lightning bolts of change)
and red
(for the life i will continue to live, the life you cannot take
away from me)
and orange
(for my siblings who heal me with their love and
understanding, helping me piece myself back together after you tried
to break me)
and yellow
(for the sunlight from within that still manages to shine in
these dark times)
and green
(for existing in the natural, physical world when all you want
is my disappearance)
and blue
(for the serenity we bring amidst the disturbances we face)
and purple
(for my spirit, which won't be broken)
(it can never be broken and you will never break us) ~ Courtney Carola

It is no parlor trick: There is a skull and, in the dark, it is glowing. Somehow it is now floating above us all. Listen: The skull is speaking. It is saying your name. It knows about you and your favorite flower and all about your tenth birthday. But it does not matter. You are not convinced. For some reason, you are still full of doubt. You stare into the dark, looking for wires. Grasping for strings, you hold your hands out. ~ Joe Meno

Daydreamer"

Victory may lay in the fog
Silent seas
Howling dogs
You and and me
Cut from a different cloth
Concrete love
Oh let me tell ya
Im gunna take this one step further
Lets explore don't stick to what you know
We're gunna take this one step further
I've found the truth
The stars are you
CHORUS:
Daydreamer
Running in the dark
Skiing in the fields
Oh lets get lost
Buy a ticket to mars
Oh show me the way
And i'm sure i'll stay
We're blossom leaves
No camouflage
Let colours bleed for us all to see
Hey your coming with me
Whether you like it or not
1 2 3
Im gunna take this one step further
Lets explore don't stick to what you know
We're gunna take this one step further
I've found the truth
The stars are you
CHORUS:
Daydreamer
Running in the dark
Skiing in the fields
Oh lets get lost
Buy a ticket to mars
Oh show me the way
And i'm sure i'll stay
What you running for
Running for
What you running for
CHORUS:
Daydreamer
Running in the dark
Skiing in the fields
Oh lets get lost
Buy a ticket to mars
Oh show me the way
And i'm sure i'll stay ~ Bipolar Sunshine

Die. Do you think I will? I suppose I must...I exist now, and everything that exists must end, one day. I wonder how I will die, and what it will be like. It will be most interesting, don't you think? [...] Yes. Yes, I think it will," said the wolf. "I look forward to it. On the whole, I think it is a very strange and terrifying thing, to exist. I really don't understand how you do it. Tell me - how do you deal with the fear?

"The fear?" asked George.

"Yes. That fear that comes from the feeling that there is you, and then there is...everything else. That you are trapped inside of yourself, a tiny dot insignificant in the face of every everything that could ever be. How do you manage that?"

George considered how to answer. "I...guess we just never think about it."

"Never think about it!" cried the wolf. "How can you not think about it when it confronts you at every moment? You are lost amid a wide, dark sea, with no shores in sight, and you all so rarely panic! Some days I can barely function, so how on earth can you never think about it?"

"Well, I...suppose we distract ourselves," said George.

"But with what?".

"I don't know. With all kinds of things. ~ Robert Jackson Bennett

Tonight I saw myself in the dark window as
the image of my father, whose life
was spent like this,
thinking of death, to the exclusion
of other sensual matters,
so in the end that life
was easy to give up, since
it contained nothing: even
my mother's voice couldn't make him
change or turn back
as he believed
that once you can't love another human being
you have no place in the world. ~ Louise Gluck