Quotes About Contrast

For no good reason, he thought of Xhex. Xhex was a thunderstorm made up of hues of black and iron gray, power leashed but no less lethal for its control. Cormia was a sunny day cast in rainbow of brightness. He put his hand over his heart and bowed to her, then left. As he started up for his room, he wondered whether he liked the storm or the sunshine better.

You are the sweetest thug I've ever known.

Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean… hello? You're this beefy Irish white boy. He's like… bus exhaust or some shit.

Someone put opera on inside the house. Someone changed it to hip-hop, thank God. Someone started a shower. Someone vacuumed. Again. Life. In all its mundane majesty. And you couldn't take advantage of it if you were sitting on your ass in the shadows... whether it was in actuality, or metaphorically because you were trapped in an attic's darkness.

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

Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not? - Wrath

Stepping onto the bath mat, that was also done in that god-awful deep pinky red, he toweled himself off. Still erect. Glancing at his fighting clothes, he found himself loath to put them upon his skin. Rough. Scratchy. Dirty. Mayhap the feminine environment was contaminating him. Xcor ended up in the big bed, naked, upon his back. Still erect.

The guy was like part pro wrestler, part Toys R Us.

Up in front, Fritz, as his name was, was driving like a bat out of hell—not exactly something you expected from a butler who looked like he was seven thousand years old.

Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean…hello? You're this beefy Irish white boy. He's like…bus exhaust or some shit.

Dear God. Her eyes didn't match the gentle lilt of her voice at all. They belonged to a warrior. Gunmetal gray, surrounded by lashes the color of her hair, they were grave, serious, reminding him of males who had fought and survived battle. They were staggeringly beautiful in their strength.

She had everything to offer; he had nothing. And yet she wanted him anyway. It was at that moment that he fell in love with her.

Funny how losses were as much of a currency as happiness in life. Somehow, they were noticed more, though.

Ivie lowered her coffee cup onto its saucer. "You would do that? I mean, Silas, seriously, these are not your peeps. My dad has tattoos and a Harley. He and my mahmen live in a prefab house out on a farm, and eat their own chickens. We're talking beer out of a can, a store-bought cake, and hunting dogs running around under the table

I can understand, but

Three days. During which there was enough drama going on to make War and Peace looked like a comic book.

There was great hunger and rough dominance, but all of that was mediated by a wellspring of consideration and caring. It was the yin and the yang of sex, the grabbing and the caressing, the biting and the kissing, the pushing down and the cradling.

There was absolutely nothing about her that courted notice. She wasn't anything like the females he went for. And she held his attention like a marching band.

Yeah, his being your friendly neighborhood drug lord, pimp, and enforcer really fit in with the Norman Rockwell routine. Totally.

Por Dios, aunque su cara tenía una expresión dura, la voz de Zsadist era tan suave y hermosa como la llama de la vela!

Él era el frío que la hacía mantenerse despierta. Y el calor que no la dejaba temblar.

Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not, Wrath murmured.

LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; NY gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.

Pretty girls make graves