“There was something in her eyes that drew me in. I wanted to make the sadness she tried to hide go away.” -Cage York”

It was like she’d become the sun, and I started revolving around her. She was my center.

I hate the color red almost as much as i hate blond hair,”he said with an amused tone. -Dank

Blaire, tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do whatever it is you need.

I don’t just love her, she owns me. Completely. I’d do anything for her

You feel real good, Lana. Makes me forget everything else

He pressed a kiss to my ear. “Do you feel stretched? Can you tell I’ve been inside you?” I nodded, feeling my knees go a little weak from the tone in his voice. “Good. I like knowing you can feel where I’ve been.

When you find your reason for living, hold onto it. Never let it go. Even if it means burning other bridges along the way.

I never stood a chance. He stole your heart first.

He seems like a man who knows what he wants, and the problem is he wants what I want.

Identifying pain in others was easy for me. I was drawn to it in some strange perverse way.

This was why I loved my Grana. Being with her always made me laugh. She accepted life for what it was. She didn’t pretend or put on airs. She was just Grana.

I dropped my phone on the floor and let the pain assail me. I’d given my heart away to someone who didn’t want it. Even knowing that, I didn’t regret it. I just wanted him to want me. I just wanted him to love me too.

She frowned.”You’re not very friendly.” I let out a short laugh.”What?I’m not friendly to a ghost who floats into my house and starts touching me?Well,excuse my rudeness but this is a little disturbing.

The love she left behind will be the reason dreams are reached. She was the rock in a world that was crumbling. Her strength will remain. It’s in our hearts.

That’s okay. You an be selfish with me all you want. I’m yours.

The heart wants who the heart wants. We can’t help that.

I’m just a potato that won’t quit. I’m a potato with some legs. Some have eyes, I’ve got legs.

Tamaki to Kyoya: I thought you wanted more because your eyes don’t show satisfaction now.

There is only one way in the world to be distinguished. Follow your instinct! Be yourself, and you’ll be somebody. Be one more blind follower of the blind, and you will have the oblivion you desire.

Writing is to descend like a miner to the depths of the mine with a lamp on your forehead, a light whose dubious brightness falsifies everything, whose wick is in permanent danger of explosion, whose blinking illumination in the coal dust exhausts and corrodes your eyes.

Fix your eye on the ball from the moment the pitcher holds it in his glove. Follow it as he throws to the plate and stay with it until the play is completed. Action takes place only where the ball goes.

They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever known. And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own.

A good writer refuses to be socialized. He insists on his own version of things, his own consciousness. And by doing so he draws the reader’s eye from its usual groove into a new way of seeing things.

It doesn’t seem that long ago to me that the word ‘irreverent’ seemed affixed to my name. ‘Irreverent newcomer.’ I went from irreverent to venerable in what seems to me like the blink of an eye.