Quotes from Karen Marie Moning

Killed time is an abortion, life that never gets lived, gone, just gone.

Do you wish to? I'm leaving on the morrow. 'Tis now or never, lass." He waited, watching her. "Some chances come but once, Chloe, and swift are gone.

Any time. Any place. Think you that means a man should never go to war? War is a natural way of life.

Rage bubbles up inside me, cold, clear, and as psychotic as the carnage unfolding before my eyes.

The place is a consummate mind-fuck.

Immediacy is efficiency.

In the year since the day I got on a plane to fly to Dublin, determined to find my sister's killer and bring him to justice, I've learned that you can discover just as much from what people don't say to you, as what they do. It's not enough to listen to their words. You have to mine their silences for buried ore. It's often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all.

In a court of justice, one might consider that atonement for a—" He breaks off and laughs softly. "—crime of passion. And that, my dear complicated fucking Ms. Lane, is the closest thing to an apology you will ever get from a man who apologizes to no one. Take it or leave it.

He breaks off, and I gasp as, abruptly, what we're seeing makes perfect sense.

Some people—who haven't lost someone they love unconditionally and more than themselves—think a year is plenty of time to get over the trauma of their death and you should have fully moved on. Fuck you, it's not.

Love's a bloody river with level-five rapids. Only a catastrophic act of nature or a dam has any chance of stopping it—and then usually only succeeds in diverting it. Both measures are extreme and change the terrain so much you end up wondering why you bothered.

Each morning we wake up, we get to choose between hope and fear and apply one of those emotions to everything we do. Do we greet the things that come our way with joy? Or suspicion? Hope strengthens …

You have become a monster. There is nothing left of the man I love.

I leaned closer, staring in through the glass. He'd refurnished the bookstore. How long had I been gone? There was my magazine rack, my cashier's counter, a new old-fashioned cash register, a small flat-screen TV/DVD player that was actually from this decade, and a sound dock for my iPod. There was a new sleek black iPod Nano in the dock. He'd done more than refurnish the place. He might as well have put a mat out that said WELCOME HOME, MAC.

He's right, we'll get no answers from these mutilated forms, and even if I'm successful at restoring one, we'll get answers only by lip-reading, given the unnatural silence blanketing the land and all inhabitants

They are each other's opposite, although, I suppose, not antithesis. That would be summer to winter, autumn to spring. Yet as they stand near each other, Winter, so icy and pale, Autumn so dusky and warm, it drives home to me how elemental the Fae are, the embodiment of the seasons themselves.

grief's drink recipe is two parts tribute to the person you loved and four parts feeling sorry for yourself because you lost them.

It will slay me alive to enforce this decision, but I will, and my father would expect—no, demand—no less from me. Jack Lane would be ashamed of me if I did otherwise. Possibly even despise me.

I want to keep her from ever changing into something so terrible as I've become.

He'd sternly reminded himself of rule number four—no physical intimacy. But it had done him no good. Rule number four seemed to have become quite friendly with rule number one—never break an oath—and was cozying up nicely to rule number two—do not lie. What a crowd they were becoming, his broken rules.

She straddles me, ass to my face, reverse cowgirl, tangled hair swinging. And son of a bitch, the woman can ride.

I didn't re-create the abbey from my recollection, but from the earth's elephantine memory.

What did you wish for, Grimm?" Hawk ignored the warning with the devil-may-care attitude that was his wont where the lasses were concerned. A slow smile slid over Grimm's face. "A lass who doesn't want you. A lovely, nay, an earth-shatteringly beautiful one, with wit and wisdom to boot. One with a perfect face and a perfect body and a perfect 'no' on her perfect lips for you, my oh-so perfect friend. And I also wished to be allowed to watch the battle.

Justice and revenge had been only part of my motivation for leaving Ashford. I'd run from my grief, from their pain, from being a shadow of another person, better loved for bitterly lost, and Ireland hadn't been nearly far enough.