Best 28 quotes of Melika Dannese Lux on MyQuotes

A decision made during a moment of weakness can ruin your life.         To date, I had made three.

Affronts to her reputation pierced her to the heart, though I couldn’t understand why, since she had very little character left to defend.

A lot of things should have been, Zigmund, but they aren’t. Are you going to be miserable about the things you cannot change, or do something about the things you can?

And I swore it to myself the night Maurice ran away,” Ilyse screamed, terror and fury coursing through her veins, “and I’ll swear it again; no matter what you do, you will never conquer me.

Because, my dear Eric, I have tasted the secret knowledge. I know how much to say and when to pull back. I know what to see and not see. And now that I have become whole again, I can never go back. All these things he has given me. Better than my supposed mother and father ever could. For that, I owe him my life and allegiance.

Darkness enveloped us again, and for the first time in years, I welcomed it.

He blinked in surprise and was even more startled when the dragon mimicked the action, but did so sideways. A clear membrane coated its eye, then drew back to reveal hues infinitely more searing than before—so vibrant it was painful for Roger to look into them. Orange pulsating like a lava flow, yellow glistening brighter than a city made of gold, green flashing like St. Elmo’s fire. All these colors danced not a foot in front of Roger’s face, flickering within that gigantic orb...

He was mocking me. I could see his mouth beginning to lift in a maddening smirk, a smile that was half sardonic and half secretive, as if the fate of the world depended on the answer to a riddle only he knew and would never share.

I’d go to hell and back and cut off the devil’s head myself to save you.

Draw the curtains. “Whatever for?” Prying eyes and itchy ears. “Are you naturally cryptic, or is it something you picked up at Guardian training academy?

If I were pressed, I would admit that she was beautiful, in a dead bride sort of way.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

I know the consequences, Manon,” Ilyse conceded. “I know the fate you endured might one day be my own. But I refuse to be a prisoner for the rest of my life.

I’m not bound by any God-ordained rules. I’m a rebel. I follow my own path.” “Then follow it out into the marshes and drown yourself, why don’t you?” “The marshes dried up” was Carver’s matter-of-fact answer.

I used to ask myself, ‘Sergei, would you rather spend your money on drink or women?’ and thanks to the club, I spend it on both and am called a patron of the arts.

I’ve always felt comfortable amongst the horrors. I married your uncle Gerard, after all.

I’ve read about this in books, imagined it in my mind countless times since I’ve been here, but to actually witness it is something entirely different. I thought I was prepared, but nothing—no amount of book learning or supposed life experience or bravado—can make you invulnerable to the sight of a vampire drinking blood.

Maybe I had been making a greater monster of him than he really was, or maybe I was still under his influence, for I was certain that he wanted me to believe he was no more than a harmless man who happened to use vampirism to get what he desired. Some remnant of his mesmerism was still upon me. I had never been able to shake the feeling that he was tucked away in a corner of my mind, that he could read my thoughts, know what I was thinking. He had done something to me, but what that was, I had never been able to discover. All I knew was that the feeling had been with me since the morning I woke up and found myself in Venice.

Sergei doesn’t yearn for love…he thirsts for domination, and now he has finally achieved it.

She is so tiresome. ‘Am I a vampire, am I a wolf, am I a vampire, am I a wolf, I cannot decide, so I’ll be both!

She rounded on me with such ferocity that for a moment I didn’t recognize her. A flash of fangs, a dark gleam in her blacker-than-night eyes. It was the most vampiric I’d ever seen her.

Tell me, Eric,” he said, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth. “Have you ever tasted blood?”        My mouth was so dry I could barely find the voice to answer him. “What an odd question...”        “But a valid one. Well, have you?”        “I’ve cut my lip before, so yes, I suppose I have tasted blood, but...”        “Not your own, you foolish boy.” He let out a short, derisive laugh and leaned in so that he was only a few inches from my face. “I mean the blood of another.”        “Good God, Stefan, of course not!”        “Pity...

There are more things in Heaven and earth..." Uncle Gryffyn muttered. "Now ain't the time to be quotin' old Bill Shakes, guv," Bellows shot in.

There was something in her eyes that made me trust her. Maybe it was because they held the same cynicism, the same world-weariness I saw in my own every morning when I looked at myself in the mirror.

Thirteen years of friendship had bonded us together more thoroughly than if we had been born of the same mother. Even at this late stage, I was unwilling to let him go.

Why should I not know what he's really called?" "Tell a man your name and he will have power over you forever," Carver muttered.

Will you not bid me welcome, Brother?” the beast mocked. The dragon’s voice paralyzed Roger where he stood. Hearing it sapped his strength, stole his will, made him feel as though his mind had been crushed between slabs of stone. There was chaos in it, and destruction—a voice crafted of darkness and the death of worlds.

With Stefan, the line between good and evil, right and wrong, becomes increasingly blurred.