Karen Marie Moning - Shadowfever (2011)

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Those who were so long imprisoned in ice and darkness seem to find the sunlight jarring, painful. The longer I walk around with this grief inside me, the more I understand that. It's as if sunshine is a slap in the face that says, Look, the world's all bright and shiny! Too bad you're not.

Karen Marie Moning
Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything.

Karen Marie Moning
I'm not the hero, Mac. Never have been. Never will be. Let us be perfectly clear: I'm not the antihero, either, so quit waiting to discover my hidden potential. There's nothing to redeem me.

Karen Marie Moning
Try a rocket launcher. Think maybe you could manage to hit me with that?

Karen Marie Moning
Sometimes I worry that there's not enough room in my brain for both my dreams and reality that I'm a hard drive with limited gigabytes and one day I won't be able to maintain the firewall between them. I wonder if that's what senility is.

Karen Marie Moning
You can't save people from themselves. You can only try to wake them up.

Karen Marie Moning
Unbelievable," I heard Christian mutter behind me. "She toops them both?" I head Drustan ask. "And they permit it?" Dageus sounded baffled. I looked between V'lane and Barrons. "This isn't even about me." "You're wrong about that." Barrons reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. "You know how to find me if you want me." He was walking away. "More nifty acronyms?" He was gone.

Karen Marie Moning
It's so easy to lie. What's even worse is how we cling to those lies. We beg for the illusion so we don't have to face the truth, don't have to feel alone.

Karen Marie Moning
When Darroc returns, I know by the look in his eyes that I've chosen well. He thinks I picked black and red for him, the colors of his guard, the colors he has told me he selected for his future court. I chose black and red for the tattoos on Barrons' body. Tonight I wear my promise to him that I will make things right.

Karen Marie Moning
I wasn't prepared for death. Nobody is. You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

Karen Marie Moning
Are we, like, having a conversation?" "Did you just, like, ask me for advice and listen with an open mind? If so, then yes, I would call this a conversation

Karen Marie Moning
Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.

Karen Marie Moning
He knows what I'm thinking. Always. We're connected. The atoms between us ferry messages back and forth.

Karen Marie Moning
Do you think love just goes away? Pops out of existence when it becomes too painful or inconvenient, as if you never felt it?

Karen Marie Moning
On the lips of my enemy, my sister's lover, my lover's killer, I taste the punishment I deserve. I taste oblivion.

Karen Marie Moning
I can't help but see myself in them. The Seelie are who I was before my sister died. Pink, pretty, frivolous Mac. The Unseelie are who I've become, carved by loss and despair. Black, grungy, driven Mac.

Karen Marie Moning
Silence isn't golden, it's deadly. It's a vacuum that fills up with ghosts.

Karen Marie Moning
I've learned a thing or two from Barrons: Power is sexy. It shapes my spine, infuses my beckoning hand. I have not been devastated by Barrons' death. The alchemy of grief has forged a new metal. I have been transformed. There's only one way I can make his death okay. Undo it.

Karen Marie Moning
He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?

Karen Marie Moning