The Bite Before Christmas Quotes

Guess the honeymoon is over!" Denise muttered once we are outside. "Next I suppose I'll be sleeping in the wet spot.. ~ Jeaniene Frost

I do trust you though. I think if someone tried to take me, you'd at least fight them for me a little…" I watched his face for a moment before narrowing my eyes. "Wouldn't you?"

That had his other eye popping open, his cheeks still slightly pink, but everything else about him completely alert. "You know I would."

Why that pleased me so much, I wasn't going to overanalyze.

"If someone tried to take you, I know aikido, some jiu-jitsu, and kickboxing," I offered him up. "But my dentist says I have really strong teeth, so I'd be better off trying to bite someone's finger or ear off instead."

Aaron's eyebrows climbed up his forehead almost comically. "Like a little Chihuahua," he suggested, the spoon going into his mouth with a sly grin.

I winked at him, immediately regretting it. I didn't want it to come across like I was flirting. "I was thinking more of a piranha. I've only had one filling in my entire life," I told him, wishing each word coming out of my mouth wasn't coming out of it.

If he thought I was being awkward or a flirt, he didn't make it known. "Or a raptor."

"A lion."

"A tiger."

"Did you know a jaguar has twice the strength in its bite than a tiger does?"

Aaron frowned as he took another bite of his oatmeal. "No shit?"

"No. Two thousand pounds per square inch. They're the only big cat that kills their prey by biting its head, through bone and ever ~ Mariana Zapata

He walked me to the door--the same one to which I'd been escorted many times before by pimply high school boys and a few miscellaneous suitors along the way. But this time was different. Bigger. I felt it. I wondered for a moment if he felt it, too.
That's when the spike heel of my boot caught itself on a small patch of crumbling mortar on my parents' redbrick sidewalk. In an instant, I saw my life and any ounce of pride remaining in my soul pass before my eyes as my body lurched forward. I was going to bite it for sure--and right in front of the Marlboro Man. I was an idiot, I told myself, a dork, a klutz of the highest order. I wanted desperately to snap my fingers and magically wind up in Chicago, where I belonged, but my hands were too busy darting in front of my torso, hoping to brace my body from the fall.
But someone caught me. Was it an angel? In a way. It was Marlboro Man, whose tough upbringing on a working cattle ranch had produced the quick reflexes necessary to save me, his uncoordinated date, from certain wipeout. Once the danger was over, I laughed from nervous embarrassment. Marlboro Man chuckled gently. He was still holding my arms, in the same strong cowboy grip he'd used to rescue me moments earlier. Where were my knees? They were no longer part of my anatomy.
I looked at Marlboro Man. He wasn't chuckling anymore. He was standing right in front of me…and he was still holding my arms. ~ Ree Drummond

When we get closer, he pushes out both of the chairs across from him. He nods at them and says, "Take a seat."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Am I going to have to woo you before I get my slice?"

He smiles over the pizza that he's about to bite into. "Yeah, I do believe you're going to have to."

With zero self-respect, Amanda takes a seat and says, "That's no problem with me."

Honestly. Does she not know how to avoid showing all her cards at once?

When I take a seat, he holds out his hand. "I'm Aaron."

I take his hand and notice how rough it is. It's a working hand, one that experiences strenuous hours on the jobsite, day in, day out. "Amelia, and this is my friend, Amanda."

Aaron nods at Amanda. "Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure is mine and just so you know, Amelia is single and definitely on the market. Want me to give you her number?"

"Amanda, what the hell are you - ?"

"I would love it," Aaron says, leaning back in his chair while sipping his drink.

Slowly turning toward him, a little stunned, I ask, "You would?"

He nods with all the confidence in the world. "I would."

"But you don't know me. I could be a shovel-wielding rabbit killer."

He leans forward, his chest flexing under his shirt with the movement. "I'll take my chances."

Now feeling a little skeptical, I fold my arms over my chest and ask, "Why do you want i ~ Meghan Quinn

His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.
"Oh, fuck the paperwork," he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, he's got both of my hands in one of his in a vice-like grip above my head, and he's pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs my ponytail and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It's only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this. ~ E.L. James

Lila smiles, reaches into the cloth covering whatever goodies are in the basket, and pulls out a concha. The top of the pastry is a swirl of colors- deep purple, inky blue, pink, green, gold. It reminds me of the galaxy, and I stare for a moment, mesmerized, before I take it from her.
My mouth begins to water. "This smells incredible," I say. "What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house," she says, already turning away. "Enjoy."
I want to argue, but the urge to bite into the pastry is nearly irresistible now. I've never had Mexican pastries before. But first... I pick up my phone from the bench and take a picture of the gorgeous creation. Then, putting it back down, I take a big bite and close my eyes. My mouth explodes with flavors and sensations- sweet, yeasty, warm. In another three bites, I've eaten the entire four-inch ball of dough and am licking my fingers. ~ Sandhya Menon

They know we're here." He turns to Galen. "What do you think?"
Galen scratches the back of his neck. "It's a trap."
Toraf rolls his eyes. "Oh, you think so?" He shakes his head. "I'm asking if you think Musa is in on it."
Galen is not very familiar with Musa. He's only talked to her a handful of times, and that was when he was very young. Still, out of all the Archives who seemed to support Jagen and his monumental act of treason, Musa's face does not come to mind. "Would she be?"
Toraf shrugs. Woden scowls. "With much respect, Highness, Musa is an Archive. She will not forsake her vows to remain neutral."
It takes all of Galen's willpower to bite his tongue. Woden is still naïve enough to believe that all the Archives are of a pure and unbiased mind. That they do not get tangled up in emotions such as greed, ambition, and envy. Did Woden attend the same tribunal I did?
Toraf slaps Woden on the back. "Then you don't mind going first?"
The Poseidon Tracker visibly swallows. "Oh. Of course not. I'm happy to-"
"Oh, let's get on with this," Galen says, snatching the spear from Woden's unsuspecting grasp. This seems to embarrass the young Tracker. Galen doesn't have time for embarrassment.
"Yes, let's," Toraf says. "Before the humans get those disgusting wrinkles on their skin." He nudges Woden. "It's probably the most horrific thing I've ever seen. And I've seen lots of things."
It's the first time Galen realizes that Woden's nerv ~ Anna Banks

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Teeth gnashing from a brutal feast
Wolfing down with others; consuming every bite
Eating every poison laid before my sight
I dined upon Iniquity's endless shelf
Blindly feeding, greedily…on myself

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Expiring with every taste of yeast
Belly puffed and sour with death
A haunting shutter with every breath
Full of nothing but vanity
Dipped in pleasure and tragedy

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
As the West is far from the East
I charted the lust of mine own eyes
Thus, in my folly…I was sure to die
My soul knew nothing of sacrifice
Instead I danced with every vice

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
You found me broken and utterly fleeced
Naked, abandoned and truly alone
You nurtured the wounds to which you sewn
You gave me bread, You sang me a song
And touched my wounds with a loving balm

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Yet, You taught me wisdom's leash
So I walk with you…dawn through night
Quenched by your fount of love and light
No darkness, no hate not a selfish bone
Can feed this fiend that You've atoned

Oh, I was, but a wounded Beast!
~Jason Neville Versey ~ Jason Versey

We climbed this hill. Each step up we could see farther, so of course we kept going. Now we're at the top. Science has been at the top for a few centuries now. And we look out across the plain and we see this other tribe dancing around above the clouds, even higher than we are. Maybe it's a mirage, maybe it's a trick. Or maybe they just climbed a higher peak we can't see because the clouds are blocking the view. So we head off to find out - but every step takes us downhill. No matter what direction we head, we can't move off our peak without losing our vantage point. So we climb back up again. We're trapped on a local maximum. But what if there is a higher peak out there, way across the plain? The only way to get there is to bite the bullet, come down off our foothill and trudge along the riverbed until we finally start going uphill again. And it's only then you realize: Hey, this mountain reaches way higher than that foothill we were on before, and we can see so much better from up here. But you can't get there unless you leave behind all the tools that made you so successful in the first place. You have to take that first step downhill. ~ Peter Watts

My mother sings One day at a time sweet Jesus, and even Daddy likes to say that, one day at a time, as if it's some strategy for living. And yet the quickest way to not live at all is to take life one day at a time. It's the way I've discovered to not do a damn thing. If you can break a day down into quarters, then hours, then half hours, then minutes, you can chew down any stretch of time to bite size. It's like dealing with losing a man. If you can bear it for one minute, then you can swallow two, then five, then another five and on and on. If I don't want to think about my life, I don't have to think about life at all, just hold for one minute, then two, then five, then another five, before you know it, a month can pass and you don't even notice because you've only been counting minutes. ~ Marlon James

Do you think she was like that?"
"I've found it is helpful when talking to use actual subjects and context so your listener can understand what, exactly, you are trying to convey."
I rolled my eyes. "Like you're so big on clear communication."
"Reth, I . . ." I paused, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever are you sorry for?"
I shrugged. "How about threatening to kill you, for starters."
"That is an excellent place to start, although I must tell you those threats were rather more endearing and humorous than frightening."
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. You really came through for me when no one else could, and I know Lend wouldn't be here without your help. So thank you." I leaned my head against his shoulder and it seemed like he almost missed a step, but then he continued on as graceful as before. I lifted my head back up, staring ahead and straining for my first glimpse of the pond. "Why did you do it? Help me, I mean. I know you don't love Lend."
His golden voice was as deliciously warm as it had always been, wrapping around me in a comforting blanket, insulating me from the bite of the December air. "No, but I do love you, silly creature that you are. ~ Kiersten White

When everyone is seated, Galen uses a pot holder to remove the lid from the huge speckled pan in the center of the table. And I almost upchuck. Fish. Crabs. And...is that squid hair? Before I can think of a polite version of the truth-I'd rather eat my own pinky finger than seafood-Galen plops the biggest piece of fish on my plate, then scoops a mixture of crabmeat and scallops on top of it. As the steam wafts its way to my nose, my chances of staying polite dwindle. The only think I can think of is to make it look like I'm hiccupping instead of gagging. What did I smell earlier that almost had me salivating? It couldn't have been this.
I fork the fillet and twist, but it feels like twisting my own gut. Mush it, dice it, mix it all up. No matter what I do, how it looks, I can't bring it near my mouth. A promise is a promise, dream or no dream. Even if real fish didn't save me in Granny's pond, the fake ones my imagination conjured up sure comforted me until help arrived. And now I'm expected to eat their cousins? No can do.
I set the fork down and sip some water. I sense Galen is watching. Out of my peripheral, I see the others shoveling the chum into their faces. But not Galen. He sits still, head tilted, waiting for me to take a bite first.
Of all the times to be a gentleman! What happened to the guy who sprawled me over his lap like a three-year-old just a few minutes ago? Still, I can't do it. And they don't even have a dog for me to feed under the table, w ~ Anna Banks

8 April 1891
The obscenity of nostrils and mouths; the ignominious cupidity of smiles and women encountered in the street; the shifty baseness on every side, as of hyenas and wild beasts ready to bite: tradesmen in their shops and strollers on their pavements. How long must I suffer this? I have suffered it before, as a child, when, descending by chance to the servant's quarters, I overheard in astonishment their vile gossip, tearing up my own kind with their lovely teeth.

This hostility to the entire race, this muted detestation of lynxes in human form, I must have rediscovered it later while at school. I had a repugnance and horror for all base instincts, but am I not myself instinctively violent and lewd, murderous and sensual? Am I any different, in essence, from the members of the riotous and murderous mob of a hundred years ago, who hurled the town sergeants into the Seine and cried, 'String up the aristos!' just as they shout 'Down with the army!' or 'Death to the Jews! ~ Jean Lorrain

Then I stared at Arnold's bánh mì. The oil had yellowed the bread. Cartoonishly red hot sauce crisscrossed juicy chunks of chicken. It was topped with shredded coriander, chopped chilies, and translucent slivers of onion. I lifted my spoon, and then I heard myself speak.
"Can I have that?" I put down my spoon and pointed at Arnold's sandwich.
"What?" Arnold replied.
"Your sandwich? Can we switch, please? I don't want this soup. I don't know why I asked for it."
I lifted up my bowl and handed it over. Arnold received it because he had no choice and watched as I lifted up his bánh mì and deposited it in front of myself. I wrapped both hands around it and took a large bite before he could protest. I felt the tiny slices of chili deliciously tingle my lips. I made a full-bodied sound to demonstrate my pleasure. ~ Lara Williams

A storm in Scotland was like nothing she'd ever experienced in London. Here, the elements felt alive, sentient. This storm was a raging monster that had grown in fury since yesterday.
Sometimes, she thought Scotland was more than a country, more than a rough and magnificent land with a border created by men, written on a map, and defended for hundreds of years. Scotland was almost a living creature that could turn and bite your hand if you didn't speak about it in fond and loving tones.
When she walked the hills and glens surrounding Drumvagen, she sometimes felt like she was being watched. Not by living inhabitants, but those who'd gone before, proud men and women who hated the English and now hovered over their land to protest her appearance.
For all her imagination, she didn't believe in the hundreds of folktales Brianag told the children. The trees weren't alive; they were simply trees. Brownies didn't do chores for obedient children. Sea creatures in the shape of horses didn't bedevil the coast.
Yet something about this storm was otherworldly, as if God were punishing them. ~ Karen Ranney

This morning from a dewy motorway
I saw the new camp for the internees:
A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay
In the roadside, and over in the trees
Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade.
There was that white mist you get on a low ground
And it was deja-vu, some film made
Of Stalag 17, a bad dream with no sound.
Is there a life before death? That's chalked up
In Ballymurphy. Competence with pain,
Coherent miseries, a bite and sup:
we hug our little destiny again.
-Whatever You Say Say Nothing ~ Seamus Heaney

In her book Anger: The Misunderstood Emotion, Carol Tavris recounts a story about a Bengali cobra that liked to bite passing villagers. One day a swami - a man who has achieved self-mastery - convinces the snake that biting is wrong. The cobra vows to stop immediately, and does. Before long, the village boys grow unafraid of the snake and start to abuse him. Battered and bloodied, the snake complains to the swami that this is what came of keeping his promise.
"I told you not to bite," said the swami, "but I did not tell you not to hiss."
"Many people, like the swami's cobra, confuse the hiss with the bite," writes Tavris. ~ Susan Cain

Multitask? What do I look like, a fucking secretary?" My temper flared before I could bite it back. Erica wasn't the only one with a big mouth. I was constantly in danger of writing checks my ass couldn't cash, the bearer of a lifelong disease of potty mouth that no amount of soap in this world could properly cleanse. ~ J.A. Saare

Now, now." She sits across from me with her toast and offers me a slice, but I push it back toward her. "Give it time. Do you remember what I told you in the hospital?" I shake my head. "Things'll get worse before they get better. Well, they surely did get worse, and now there's nowhere to go but up." She takes a bite and I keep spinning the quarter until she swallows. "You should bring that boy of yours by sometime for dinner, Cooper. It's about time we met him. ~ Karen M. McManus

He stops his conversation with Grom and leans over to kiss my forehead. "How do you feel?"
"Hungry."
Rachel sets a plate full of eggs, jalapenos, bacon, cheese, and a bunch of other ingredients that a less-famished person might care about. I don't even blow on it before I spoon it into my mouth. As soon as I do, of course, Grom says, "Good morning, Emma."
I nod politely. "Goo monig," I tell him around my good.
Galen winks at me, then takes a bite of his own breakfast, which looks like a crab cake the size of his face. Also, it smells like dirty socks and sauerkraut. ~ Anna Banks

But most of all, where did this deeply complex sweetness come from?! It's far too nuanced to be solely brown sugar!"
"Oh, the answer to that is in the flavoring I used."
"Soy sauce?!"
"Oh my gosh, she added soy sauce to a dessert?!"
"I used it at the very end of the recipe.
To make the whipped-cream filling, I used heavy cream, vanilla extract, light brown sugar and a dash of soy sauce.
Once the cakes were baked, I spread the whipped cream on top, rolled them up and chilled them in the fridge for a few minutes.
All of that made the brown sugar in the cake both taste and look even cuter than it did before."
"Aah, I see. The concept is similar to that of salted caramels. Add salt to something sweet..
... and by comparison the sweetness will stand out on the tongue even more strongly.
She's created a new and unique dessert topping- Soy Sauce Whipped Cream!"
"Soy sauce whipped cream, eh? I see! So that's how it works!"
Since it isn't as refined as white sugar, brown sugar retains trace amounts of minerals, like iron and sodium.
The unique layered flavor these minerals give to it matches beautifully with the salty body of soy sauce!
"Without brown sugar as the main component, this exquisite deliciousness would not be possible!"
"It tastes even yummier if you try some of the various fruits in between each bite of cake.
The candy sculptures are totally edible too.
If you break one up into crumbs an ~ Yuto Tsukuda

Thick and creamy egg, fragrant roast quail... and the rice! It all makes such a hearty, satisfying combination!
Wait, something just crunched?
"See, there are five parts to a good chicken-and-egg rice bowl.
Chicken... eggs... rice... onions... and warishita.
*Warishita is a sauce made from a combination of broth, soy sauce and sugar.*
"I seared the quail in oil before putting it in the oven to roast. That made the skin nice and crispy... while leaving the meat inside tender and juicy.
For the eggs, I seasoned them with salt and a generous pinch of black pepper to give them some bite and then added cream to make them thick and creamy! It's the creaminess of the soft-boiled egg that makes or breaks a good chicken-and-egg bowl, y'know.
Some milk made the risotto extra creamy. I then mixed in onions as well as ground chicken that was browned in butter. I used the Suer technique on the onions. That should have given some body to their natural sweetness.
For the sauce, I sweetened some Madeira wine with sugar and honey and then added a dash of soy sauce. Like warishita in a regular chicken-and-egg rice bowl, this sauce ties all the parts of the dish together. Try it with the poached egg. It's seriously delicious!
Basically I took the idea of a Japanese chicken-and-egg rice bowl...
... and rebuilt it using only French techniques!"
"Yukihira! I wanna try it too!"
"Oh, uh, sorry. I only made that one."
"Awww!
You ~ Yuto Tsukuda

The repetitive phases of cooking leave plenty of mental space for reflection, and as I chopped and minced and sliced I thought about the rhythms of cooking, one of which involves destroying the order of the things we bring from nature into our kitchens, only to then create from them a new order. We butcher, grind, chop, grate, mince, and liquefy raw ingredients, breaking down formerly living things so that we might recombine them in new, more cultivated forms. When you think about it, this is the same rhythm, once removed, that governs all eating in nature, which invariably entails the destruction of certain living things, by chewing and then digestion, in order to sustain other living things. In The Hungry Soul Leon Kass calls this the great paradox of eating: 'that to preserve their life and form living things necessarily destroy life and form.' If there is any shame in that destruction, only we humans seem to feel it, and then only on occasion. But cooking doesn't only distance us from our destructiveness, turning the pile of blood and guts into a savory salami, it also symbolically redeems it, making good our karmic debts: Look what good, what beauty, can come of this! Putting a great dish on the table is our way of celebrating the wonders of form we humans can create from this matter--this quantity of sacrificed life--just before the body takes its first destructive bite. ~ Michael Pollan

Keeley, Burke tells me your new trainer is a natural with the horses, with Travis and with cards as well."
"And I hear he's gorgeous,too," Mo added.
"Where'd you hear that?" Keeley demanded before she could bite her tongue into two.
"Oh,the word gets around in our snug little world," Mo said grandly. "And Shelley Mason-one of your kids? Her sister Lorna's in my Worl History class, a huge, bore by the way. The class, that is, not Lorna, who's only a small bore.Anyway, she picked Shelley up last week from your place and got a load of the Irish hunk, so I heard all about it. Which is why I'm planning on coming over as soon as I can and getting a load of him myself."
"Trevor, give your sister your pork chop so the can stuff it in her mouth."
"Dad." Giggling, Mo snatched another fry. "I'm just going to look. So, Keeley, is he gorgeous? I respect your opinion more than Lorna Mason's."
"He's too old for you," Keeley said, a bit more sharply than she intended and had Mo rolling her eyes.
"Jeez.I don't want to marry him and have his children."
Travis's laugh prevented Keeley from snapping back with something foolish. "Good thing. Now that I've found someone who comes close to replacing Paddy,I don't intend to lose him to Three Acres."
"okay." Mo licked salt from her fingertip. "I'll just ogle him. ~ Nora Roberts

Now, why was diagonal cutting better than cutting straight across? Because the corner of a triangularly cut slice gave you an ideal first bite. In the case of rectangular toast, you had to angle the shape into your mouth, as you angle a big dresser through a hall doorway: you had to catch one corner of your mouth with one corner of the toast and then carefully turn the toast, drawing the mouth open with it so that its other edge could clear; only then did you chomp down. Also, with a diagonal slice, most of the tapered bite was situated right up near the front of your mouth, where you wanted it to be as you began to chew; with the rectangular slice, a burdensome fraction was riding out of control high on the dome of the tongue. One subway stop before mine, I concluded that there had been logic behind the progress away from the parallel and toward the diagonal cut, and that the convention was not, as it might first have appeared, merely an affection of short-order cooks. ~ Nicholson Baker

Otter did this! I didn't do anything wrong. He tricked me! He tricked me and left! Just like I knew he would! I think I hear him call my name, but my ears are pounding too hard to be sure. It sounds like the ocean. Im about to start running when I feel strong arms wrap around me from behind, clasping on my chest. I turn around to swing at him but can only get partway before I get caught in a vise grip.
"Let go of me!" I snarl, wanting to kick and bite and punch and hurt.
"Bear," he says, his voice grumbling in my ear. "Bear."
"Im not like you!" I say, still struggling to get away. "Im not like that!"
"I know, Bear. I know." His breath is hot against my cold skin. "Dont you think I know that? I shouldnt have let it happen. Im sorry. Im so sorry."
I stop fighting him, feeling all the anger fall out of me like someone flipped a switch. "Why are you here?" I moan. "Why did you come back?"
He grabs me by the chin, forcing me to stare into his eyes. "It has nothing to do with what happened between us. As far as I am concerned, that was a mistake. We never should have kissed. ~ T.J. Klune

A man needs but two things: a reliable moral compass to guide him and a strong dose of integrity to see him through all manner of troubles," Pensive said, raising his untensil with a wink. Tibbs stared doubtfully at the fork and said, "That not integrity. That's boiled potato with cream sauce." Pensive paused before answering, taking a delicate bite and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Nary a whit of difference, Tibbs, " he said decidedly. "Nary a whit. ~ Jessica Lawson

Mondays are for baklava, which she learned to make by watching her parents. Her mother said that a baklava-maker should have sensitive, supple hands, so she was in charge of opening and unpeeling the paper-thin layers of dough and placing them in a stack in the tray. Her father was in charge of pastry-brushing each layer of dough with a coat of drawn butter. It was systematic yet graceful: her mother carefully unpeeling each layer and placing them in the tray where Sirine's father painted them. It was important to move quickly so that the unbuttered layers didn't dry out and start to fall apart. This was one of the ways that Sirine learned how her parents loved each other- their concerted movements like a dance; they swam together through the round arcs of her mother's arms and her father's tender strokes. Sirine was proud when they let her paint a layer, prouder when she was able to pick up one of the translucent sheets and transport it to the tray- light as raw silk, fragile as a veil.
On Tuesday morning, however, Sirine has overslept. She's late to work and won't have enough time to finish preparing the baklava before starting breakfast. She could skip a day of the desserts and serve the customers ice cream and figs or coconut cookies and butter cake from the Iranian Shusha Bakery two doors down. But the baklava is important- it cheers the students up. They close their eyes when they bite into its crackling layers, all lightness and scent of orange blossoms.
And ~ Diana Abu-Jaber

Gingerbread
I knew I had to get out of there
before the icing cracked and they discovered
that I'm burnt around the edges,
doughy in the center,
that what they thought was sugar
is salt.

If I was a good girl,
if I could satisfy their cravings,
if every dream in my misshapen head
didn't bite, I might have stayed at the table.

Wouldn't you run, too,
from such voracious love? ~ Christine Heppermann

I know now what was happening to me, what was overwhelming me, what was about to consume and almost destroy me. Didier had even given me a name for it - assassin grief, he'd once called it: the kind of grief that lies in wait and attacks you from ambush, with no warning and no mercy. I know now that assassin grief can hide for years and then strike suddenly on the happiest day, without discernible reason or exegesis. But on that day, ... almost a year after Khader's death, I couldn't understand the dark and trembling mood that was moving in me, swelling to the sorrow I'd too long denied. I couldn't understand it, so i tried to fight it as a man fights pain or despair. But you can't bite down on assassin grief and will it away. The enemy stalks you, step for step, and knows your every move before you make it. The enemy is your own grieving heart and, when it strikes, it can't miss. ~ Gregory David Roberts

I may not have seen your face or breathed your scent before, but I knew who you were the moment I saw you. The moment I had to bite my tongue to keep from ordering you to your knees in front of everyone. The second I wanted to challenge every wolf who so much as shook your hand. The very instant I stopped hating this match, I knew who you were. ~ Kim Dare

He's no Turner Campbell, but the kiss is different than anything I've ever felt before. It's like kissing death, but in a good way. Like having a bite of that final rest, tasting soothing comfort and reassurance. ~ C.M. Stunich