Quotes from J.R. Ward

Destiny was a machine built over time, each choice that you made in life adding another gear, another conveyor belt, another assemblyman. Where you ended up was the product that was spit out at the end—and there was no going back for a redo. You couldn"t take a peek at what you"d manufactured and decide, Oh, wait, I wanted to make sewing machines instead of machine guns; let me go back to the beginning and start again. One shot. That was all you got.

They don't fit you? V asked his roommate. Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People. Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. I mean, come on. They're for fighting, not fashion. So are kilts, but you don't see me rocking the tartan. And thank God for that. You're too bowlegged to pull that shit off. Butch assumed a bored expression. You can bite me." I wish , V thought. Butch and Vishous

Turned out Qhuinn was a snuggler. Who knew—and how fabulous.

The guy didn't have resting bitch face so much as resting I'm-going-to-kill-someone-and-light-their-house-on-fire face.

Are you wet for me, Mary? I think you are. I think you're covered with honey.

With his fantastic mane of multicoloured hair, Phury should have been in Hollywood's league with the ladies, but he'd stuck with his vow of celibacy. There was room for one and only one love in his life, and it had been slowly killing him for years.

I love you. It was the tie that bound, even across the divides of death and time.

What... are you? she choked out. No sunlight. Funky choppers. he inhaled raggedly. Take a guess.

Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.

Kind of like winning the fifty-meter ass-stroke in the Loserlympics

Holy shit. Rehv shook his head and muttered, Now we know what the zombie apocalypse looks like.

Her bra was cotton and white and, bless its little frickin´ heart, had a front clasp.

And bottom line, without John by her side, everything seemed to be just a big, resounding meh.

Shit, it was so damn girly. Next thing you knew, she was going to start crying at TV ads and doing her nails. And getting a frickin' pocketbook.

This is calm, cool, and collected, you little bitch. You don't want to see me pissed off.

End of the day, the quick and the dead are the same. Everyone's just looking for a home.

You have what I call a male brow. Which is a frown brought on when you're thinking about your male and you either want to boot him in the ass or wrap your arms around him and hold him 'til he can't breathe.

You are the sweetest thug I've ever known.

Marie-Therese : Something needs to be done about that gentleman caller of hers. Xhex : Something was, but it didn't go far enough. And if he's a gentleman, I'm Estée fucking Lauder.

I cannae believe you let me touch you." His voice grew hoarse. "I shall remember this for all my nights." Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment like this…. "Do not cry." His thumb went to her cheeks. "Beautiful female of worth, do not cry.

I'm slightly distracted with how this happy little vacation on the good ship Holy Shit is going to pan out for me.

He went over to the leathers and picked them up. Nice Catholic boy like him didn't know much about BDSM, but it looked like he was going to learn firsthand. Taking out his cellphone, he hit V, but didn't expect an answer. He guessed GPS was going to have to come in handy once again.

That human, he's a lesser waiting to happen, in my opinion--nothing less, nothing more

That's so sweet." He sighed again. "Jeez, I feel sorry for Bits, though." Mary lifted her head again. "Why?" "BECAUSE SHE IS NEVER DATING—" "Rhage, seriously. You gotta give that a rest. . . .