Best 190 quotes of Nenia Campbell on MyQuotes

A geas was a contract with the goddess of Fate. Sometimes one was born indentured, other times it was bestowed upon one as a curse. Because if one did not fulfill the terms of one's geas, one died. It was old magic, the magic of the gods, spoken in the tongues of those who controlled the dragons—and it was supposed to be extinct.

All friends have secrets. We're like three-dimensional shapes on paper; we all have hidden sides. And there's some secrets we don't even reveal to ourselves.

All lines are gray in the dark.

All statistics have outliers.

A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport.

And so the wolf lay with the lamb.

A quick and brutal fuck from behind usually served as an effective reminder of where you stood in the pack hierarchy.

As if I'd had time to drug it in the two milliseconds she'd let me out of her sight.

Ask yourself what a man without guile might do to your body in the dark.

A story unwritten is without beginning or end. But in its potential lies another story; and in the heartbeat before pen meets page, both stories exist at once, reflecting endless permutations of the other, before one of them disappears forever.

At first you might wonder what you did to deserve such treatment. Nothing, probably, so that doesn't matter. What matters is that, eventually, the abuse becomes the status quo. It's no longer about the whats and whys (“what did I do?” “why are they doing this?”) but the whens and hows (“when are they going to do it?” “how are they going to get me?”). Persecution becomes inevitable, inescapable. And once you get into the victim mindset, you're fucked. The bullies don't even need to hurt you now; your poor, warped, pathetic brain is doing half the work for them.

A woman isn't a whore for wanting pleasure. If it were unnatural, we would not be born with such drives.

Be careful what you wish for. Especially out loud.

Being a victim is supposed to set you free; it acquits you of any agency, any sense of responsibility to the person who did you harm. It's not your fault, they say. Leave him, they say. Nobody ever tells you what to do if leaving isn't an option. They just call you stupid. A dumb bitch. Sympathy is only meted out if you follow all of society's rules for how a victim is supposed to behave.

be my sonata, my cantata, my love sing me something sweet but not too sweet (or i may grow deaf to our harmony as we decrescendo into silence)

Books make the best ersatz friendships.

Boys,” Lindsay agreed, nodding. “What doesn't get lost in translation?” “Things with the letter X in front of them,” Rachel posited. “Like X-Box. And X-rated movies.

But fairytales were, at best, dirty mirrors whose warped and pitted surfaces reflected a highly distorted view of the truth, quite different from reality.

Butt holes are like a one-way street; they were made the way they were for a reason.

Careful,” he said. “If you keep blushing like that I may do more than just draw you.

College had once been my greatest aspiration; it stood for everything my mother did not—intellectualism, feminism, freedom. But being kidnapped had given me plenty of time to think, and somewhere between all that fear and dread, I'd realized that was the wrong reason to go to college. That the potential for those things had been inside of me all along, only I'd never realized because I hadn't believed myself strong enough to break free without an intermediary.

Come closer, my dears, let me give you a warning, Of the fate that befalls those who stay out past morning, In the darkest hours before the dawn, When witches roam and demons spawn, And children die with spirit gone, Magicked away in the gloaming.

Conquest was not satisfying if it began with a surrender.

Crazy people always think they're perfectly sane. It's what makes them so crazy; their entire delusion lies within the fact that they believe they aren't deluded.

Death is one lover who cannot be spurned.

Death was not the scariest thing out there; no, the denial of it could be far worse.

Deep space rendered mortal time-lines inconsequential. Few things were as old, or pervasive, as the vast, encroaching darkness of the universe.

Did you think I'd only want you once? Oh, my, you are more naïve than I thought. Why would I go through so much trouble for a mere tryst? Does a man ride a stallion but one time before condemning it to the abattoir?

Don't tell me it's going to fucking be okay! I am not okay with being that fucker's pinata!

Everyone needs to escape sometimes, and retreating into somebody else's fantasy isn't nearly as satisfying as slipping into your own.

Everything's just fucking Disney with you.

Fairytales by nature only talk about the victors. The survivors. Nobody speaks about what happens to those who failed, except in the abstract: as cautionary tales to guide others onto the path to success. How many brave knights fell to the dragon before he was slayed by the noble prince? How many children burned to a crisp and eaten before the wicked witch received her due? These stories are lost, but the lesson behind them is not: it is not enough to be merely pure and good.

Fear could drive one to violence as quickly as anger could.

Fire and water, logic and reason—those footholds of reality that you mortals hold so near and dear become like so much mist on the plains of the dreamscape.

For what is magic, but passion freed from reason?

Fuck, Christina.” “Yes, fuck Christina. I think she'd like that.

Fuck you.” Finn glanced her over, once, leisurely, and when his eyes returned to her flushed and angry face, he said, “You certainly did.

Fuck your manners." "You don't have to settle for just my manners.

Go make love to a tube sock.

Hatred is about possession. It is all-consuming, cruel, and vainglorious. When love is allowed to fester, it becomes twisted and corrupt; it settles deep in the heart...and metastasizes, sending its dark roots through the body to raze all that stands in its way. Love is chaste and pure. Love is banal....No, hatred has infinitely more possibilities.

Hatred is as easy as slipping on a well-worn woolen cloak. If only it provided the comfort of one.

He acted like a libertine of Europe with a genteel Southern propriety—and had all the morals of an emotionless psychopath. The two former masked the latter, like leaves covering a snare. You didn't notice the steel jaws until they were impaled in your flesh, and by then it was already far too late to run.

He'd been baiting me, yes, but there was more. He'd been almost…playful. It was tantamount to being rushed by a lion, and finding out it wanted to play fetch.

He kissed her, and the magic that had been building up steadily around them exploded, raining down in arcs of silver fire that made her half-remember a prophecy from her dreams. One by one, they all will die. Something had been set into motion.

Hello, Mrs. Tran...I have David's homework. And if you ever want to see it again, you'll pay me the two million dollars I asked for.

Heritage was everything: it was a golden skeleton key, gleaming with power, able to get the wielder through any number of locked doors; it was the christening of the marriage bed with virgin blood on snow-white sheets; it was the benediction of a pristine pedigree, refined through ages of selective breeding and the occasional mercy culling. It was life, and death, and all that spanned between. It was his birthright.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly, both, caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores; she was insanity, wrapped up in the thin, transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity; and she was afraid, because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her.

He smelled like alcohol and a bad dream.

He wanted a fight, yes—but he wanted her willing, not besieged, with his name shattering from her lips like a broken shield as she surrendered.

He was a phoenix of blood, rising from the ashes of those who had fallen and suffered before him.