Quotes from J.R. Ward

You can stay home," V muttered. "You really can totally f-in' stay the f home, you f'ed-up mother-f'ing f-twit." Lassiter clasped his breastplate, and swooned like Julie Andrews. "Don't you love it when he can't swear? Warms my cockles—it's like watching a drunk on roller skates try to play dodgeball in the dark—

Souls were the same. They, too, had useless baggage that impeded their proper performance, these annoying, holier-than-thou bits dangling like an appendix waiting for infection. Faith and hope and love...prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude...all this useless clutter just packed too much damn morality into the heart, getting in the way of the soul's innate desire for malignancy.

The heart of another is never ours to demand if it is not freely given.

Tell me this isn't permanent No, you have to give me my weapon back at the end. Har-har, hardy-har-har. I'm talking to Jim. No, it's not, the angel answered from out of Veck's mouth. I can get free as easily as I got in. You sure about that? Nope. Fabulous.

McDonald's, he thought. Why couldn't she have wanted Mickey D's. Or Pizza Hut. Taco Hell—

Hello? You tracking at all? Or were you planning on sleeping through this round. The lids on that red stare lifted. I'm not sleeping. Meditating. Whatever. I wasn't meditating. Fine. Psychically manipulating energy fields—— You make me dizzy when you pace. It's vertigo diversion.

Z was the last to come over, and as he opened his arms wide, for some reason, the slave bands that had been tattooed around his throat and wrists stood out to her.

It felt odd to realize she was frightened more by what he might know, and not of what he might be.

Ah, yes, the departmental shrink. And in the silence that followed, he knew everyone was waiting for him to groan, but he wasn't a Lethal Weapon wild card, damn it. Yeah. For example, he couldn't dislocate his shoulder, he didn't live on the beach with a dog, and he wasn't rocking a death wish. You're welcome.

I don't do one-night stands, she blurted. Who says one will be enough.

The bottom line is...if you were in the civilian population, you'd be a serial killer. Working for the government means you get to wave the American flag around when it suits you, but the truth is, you do what you do because you enjoy picking the wings off of flies. And everybody's an insect in your eyes.

Grief . . . is a sacred way of honoring those we love.

When he frowned again, she was fairly sure that the nomenclature did not please him, and she found herself wishing she had been birthed to other syllables.

The scarred one, the soulless one, had the voice of an angel.

The collision was impending and electric, but the moment was soft and sweet: She positively glowed as she looked up at him. What, she whispered, palming his face. Vin took a moment to memorize her features and the way she felt beneath him, seeing her not just through his eyes, but feeling her with his skin and his heart. Hello, lovely lady...hello.

You're so beautiful." "I'm still covered," she moaned. "But it doesn't matter what you look like." He lifted his head and stared at her. "The details of size and shape don't matter to me. The fact that it is you…that is what makes it beautiful to me.

How can something so . . . huge happen so fast?

It's not big, Veck said, but it's flawless. That was important to me. I wanted to give you something...flawless

Marissa in a long creamy gown. The cop in front of her, stroking her face, evidently poleaxed. All around them, the delicious scent of sex in the air.

Can somebody tell me what the fucks going on before I lose my shit all over this fucking room?

The trees were like black skeletons reaching to the sky, pleading with their bony arms for the sun to get stronger.

Why ever are you here?" she whispered, putting her hands to his face. "Because I love you." In so many ways, that explained nothing … and told her everything she needed to know.

Bottom line? The fabric of the race's society is going to unravel, and if you think that's going to help in the war, you've got your head so far up your ass you're using your colon as a mouthpiece.

When the coffee had finished brewing, he took the pot out from under, poured the entire sugar bowl into it, and followed that up with as much of the half-and-half as he could fit in. Then he took a test sip.