Quotes About Ownership

Do I get a bonus for letting him grab my boob?" "Your boob, like the rest of you, belongs to the NYPSD. Besides, McNab's going to ride you like a racehorse first chance. That's your bonus." "You brought up sex and McNab!" "This once, also your bonus." "I've got this outfit at home Dolly would wear. I'm going to put it on tonight and—" "You didn't earn that big a bonus.

Admitting it would mean accepting some responsibility and blame, something she isn't equipped to do. Others must be blamed.

Everything in me skips and scrambles when you look at me like that." "You're mine." And that brought him something beyond excitement, something deeper than passion.

For the price of the download or hard copy, anyone can own the book and read it countless times.

Look after my cop," he called after her. "Just you try licking off that plate, boy-o," she heard him say to the cat, "and see what happens." It made her grin all the way downstairs.

When did a sheep last die of old age? Sheep do not own themselves, do not own their lives. They exist to be used, every last ounce of them, their flesh to be eaten, their bones to be crushed and fed to poultry. Nothing escapes, except perhaps the gall bladder, which no one will eat. Descartes should have thought of that. The soul, suspended in the dark, bitter gall, hiding.

we can pretend that the book in question is not Mr. West's but mine, made mine by the madness of my reading.

A risk to own anything : a car, a pair of shoes, a packet of cigarettes. Not enough to go around. Not enough shoes, cars, cigarettes. Too many people too few things. What there is must go into circulation, so that everyone can have a chance to be happy for a day.

Esta es mi vida. Soy yo quien ha de vivir aquí. Lo que a mí me pase es asunto mío, solamente mío, no tuyo

Su habitación, que alguien pintó hace mucho tiempo de un deprimente color yema de huevo, nunca ha llegado a parecerle suya.

The joys of possession I have never felt very acutely. I find it hard to think of myself as the owner of anything. But I do tend to slip into the role of guardian and protector of the unloved and unlovable, of what other people disdain or spurn: bad-tempered old dogs, ugly pieces of furniture that have stubbornly stayed alive, cars on the edge of breakdown. It is a role I resist; but every now and then the mute appeal of the unwanted overwhelms my defences.

You don't know this yet. But you are Mine - Wrath

Love was worth sacrificing for, he thought as he left his room. Even if it wasn't yours.

But by God, he was going to stop running from his cowardice. He had to own his shit - even if it made him hate himself to the core. Because maybe if he did, he'd stop trying to distract himself with sex and drinking, and figure out what he did want. Apart from Blay, that was.

That's the problem with white horses. You have to pay for them yourself or you'll always be using someone else's reins.

We also mark what's ours. And as I'm not going to see you for twelve hours, I think I'll leave a little more all over you.

No matter what it takes, I'm going to prove that I love you and I need you and I want you—and that those kids are yours." With

An overwhelming, possessive instinct flashed through him. With dread, he realized he wanted to mark her. Mark her as his. He wanted that special scent all over her so no other male would come near her. So that they would know whom she belonged to. So that they would fear the repercussions of wanting to possess her for themselves. Except

Dont' try to own problems or faults that aren't yours. It's not a good longterm strategy.

The contraption was something V had bought but had never used: He'd kept it only because it had terrified him, and that was reason enough to own the thing. To be robbed of sight and hearing was the one thing guaranteed to make him lose his fucking shit—which was precisely why Butch picked the mask. He knew too well the buttons to push—physical pain was one thing . . . but the psychological stuff was so much worse. And therefore more effectual.

Ivie froze at the sound of the deep, low voice. Later, much later, she would remember most clearly not the moment she looked into his eyes, but rather the split second before she did. And that was because, when you were falling from a great distance, spinning and turning in mid-air, uncertain of your chances of surviving the landing, the thing that was even more vivid than when you hit was the last moment before consequence owned you.

That's the problem with white horses. You have to pay for them yourself or you'll always be using someone else's reins.

He can't take her away!" he screamed at no one and everybody. "We just got her! He can't take her—he's a fucking stranger—" "Rhage," Mary got directly in front of him, jumping up to catch his eye. "Rhage, we have to—" Latching onto her wide, sad stare, he moaned, "She's ours…she's ours…this stranger can't take her away—she's ours….

You don't know this yet," he said grimly. "But you are mine.