A Quote by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Don’t start on that. When I offered you her gifts, you told me to shove them straight up my back orifice. (Eros)
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Back in my mid-20s I was told I'd never be able to have children as I wasn't having periods. Doctors tried to start up my monthly cycles, but when nothing worked, they actually offered me a hysterectomy. Without it, they said I might get ovarian cancer in the future. I chose not to have the operation, and am so glad I didn't.
Many years ago, my neighbor told me that his daughter is very brave and she never cries. I was surprised. So, I took it up as a challenge. I met her and sat next to her, staring at her straight in the eye for a few minutes.
I was not the only journalist to whom Trump offered gifts clearly meant to shape coverage. Many reporters have told me that Trump worked hard to offer them something fabulous - from hotel rooms to rides on his 757.
And it's just a hunt?" Bea asked. "Just tracking the guy down, or are we going to have to do a little covering up of our own?" Had she just told me she was willing to kill someone and cover it up? She gave me a happy smile, but that glint in her eyes told me that, yes, she'd just offered to off someone.
Chronicler picked up his pen, but before he could dip it, Kvothe held up a hand. "Let me say one thing before I start. I've told stories in the past, painted pictures with words, told hard lies and harder truths. Once, I sang colors to a blind man. Seven hours I played, but at the end he said he saw them, green and red and gold. That, I think, was easier than this. Trying to make you understand her with nothing more than words. You have never seen her, never heard her voice. You cannot know.
If a seperate personal Paradise exists for each of us mine must irreparably be planted with trees of words which the wind silvers like poplars, by people who see their confiscated justice given back, and by birds that even in the midst of the truth of death insist on singing in Greek and saying, eros, eros, eros.
When the world shoves you around, you just gotta stand up and shove back. It's not like somebody's gonna save you if you start babbling excuses.
Sometimes if somebody you feel you need... the whole universe tells you that you have to have her, you start watching her favorite TV shows all night, you start buying her the things she needs, you start drinking her drinks, you start smoking her bad cigarettes, you start picking up her nuances in her voice, you sleep in safe sometimes the most dangerous thing... this is called Mojo Pin.
I remember my first Arsenal training session and Sol Campbell going straight through me. I had a bit of a bruise, but I got straight back up and carried on. I didn't want to show them that it hurt.
When I was writing my first novel a friend told me I should apply for a grant from the government that was offered to support starving artists. I can't tell you how much this deeply offended me. I told her in very clear language that I thought it was ridiculous to think that other Americans ought to pay for me to chase my dream. Anybody who understands pride and self-determination gets this. So I bartended at night, I wrote during the day, and I paid for my own damn insurance. I didn't expect anybody else to pick it up for me.
Scientists like myself merely use their gifts to show up that which already exists, and we look small compared to the artists who create works of beauty out of themselves. If a good fairy came and offered me back my youth, asking me which gifts I would rather have, those to make visible a thing which exists but which no man has ever seen before, or the genius needed to create, in a style of architecture never imagined before, the great Town Hall in which we are dining tonight, I might be tempted to choose the latter.
In the eulogy by the graveside, I told everyone how my sister and I used to sing to each other on our birthday. I told them that, when I thought of my sister, I could still hear her laughter, sense her optimism, and feel her faith. I told them that my sister was the kindest person I;ve ever known, and that the world was a sadder place without her in it. And finally, I told them to remember my sister with a smile, like I did, for even though she was being buried near my parents, the best parts of her would always stay alive, deep within our hearts.
I couldn't allow myself to think about her very long; if I had I would have jumped off the bridge. It's strange. I had become so reconciled to this life without her, and yet if I thought about her only for a minute it was enough to pierce the bone and marrow of my contentment and shove me back again into the agonizing gutter of my wretched past.
Every person has unique gifts, and those gifts give him or her the power and the opportunity to accomplish great things, if he or she learns how to use those gifts and channel them in the right direction.
In America the chief accusation seems to be one of "Eroticism." This is odd, rather puzzling to my mind. Which Eros? Eros of the jaunty "amours," or Eros of the sacred mysteries? And if the latter, why accuse, why not respect, even venerate?
If I were straight and I were trying to seduce a woman, I could do it just by standing up at the table when she came back from the bathroom. It works. Every time I do that, all the straight men are sitting at the table and their wives are kicking them. "Look at that!" "You never do that for me!"
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