A Quote by Sherrilyn Kenyon

So you guys fought some Daimons, huh? Wish I could. Wulf goes nuts if I even pick up a butter knife. (Chris) — © Sherrilyn Kenyon
So you guys fought some Daimons, huh? Wish I could. Wulf goes nuts if I even pick up a butter knife. (Chris)
I’m protecting her. (Wulf) From? (Chris) Daimons. (Wulf) Big bad ones. (Cassandra)
It’s a sun lamp. I thought you might be tired of your pasty-pale complexion. (Chris) Christopher, I happen to be a Viking in the middle of winter in Minnesota. Lack of a deep tan goes with the whole Nordic territory. Why do you think we raided Europe anyway? (Wulf) Because it was there? (Chris) No, we wanted to thaw out. (Wulf)
What an alliance, huh? A Dark-Hunter and a Spathi united to guard an Apollite. Who would have ever imagined? (Wulf) Love makes strange bedfellows. (Acheron) I thought that was politics. (Wulf) It’s both. (Acheron)
I’ll go and help. (Chris) What are we supposed to do with you, Chris? Lob you at them? (Wulf)
I think I could do good against some of the top welterweights. Yeah, pretty big guys, but you gotta live some times, you gotta step up sometime, huh?
I’ve even delivered a few of their babies. (Wulf) Really? (Cassandra) Oh, yeah. You have to love the days before modern roads, and hospitals when I was up to my elbows in placenta. (Wulf)
Then why can’t I bully you into procreating? (Wulf) See! I’m the only human in history to have Viking yenta of his very own. God, how I wish my father had been a fertile man. (Chris)
If any of you wish to know how to have your bread fall butter side up, butter it on both sides, and then it will fall butter side up.
I couldn't even pick up the newspaper without saying, 'This is a fine piece of writing. I wish to hell I could write like this.'
You can party, but I better not catch you drunk. (Wulf) (Chris rolled his eyes, then bent down to said to Cassandra’s stomach...) Be wise, little guy, stay in there where Lord King Neurotic can’t kill all your fun. (Chris)
I miss the good old days when Daimons were warriors and combat trained. The ones I found tonight knew nothing about fighting, and I’m sick of the whole ‘my gun will solve all’ mentality. (Wulf)
No, see the slide’s too high. He could fall and get a concussion. (Wulf) Forget that. He could rack himself on the teeter-totter. (Chris) Teeter-totter nothing. The swings are a choking hazard. Whose idea was it for him to have this? (Urian)
I always liked the steel guitar. I also love the guys that play the bottleneck. But I could never do it; I never made it do what I want. So every time I would pick up the guitar, I'd shake my hand and trill it a bit. For some strange reason my ears would say to me that sounds similar to what those guys were doing. I can't pick up the guitar now without doing it. So that's how I got into making my sound. It was nothing pretty. Just trying to please myself. I heard that sound.
I came from a real tough neighborhood. Once a guy pulled a knife on me. I knew he wasn't a professional, the knife had butter on it.
My war buddies, some were Americans, but some were Afghans. These were the guys that I fought alongside. We bled alongside each other; we mourned together. When I came home, these weren't people I could keep up with on Facebook.
Whenever you brown butter, some of it is lost - water evaporates, milk solids fall to the bottom of the pan, that kind of thing. It's possible that in browning the butter you ended up making the dough with too little butter.
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