Best 90 quotes of Dianna Hardy on MyQuotes

A female who spoke her mind and called it like it was, was considered trouble. When a male did it, he was considered a leader and desirable.

Always. There is always time for jokes. As my father would say, humour is the spark that lights every dark.

And she sang. Perhaps she'd never stop, for it was rather freeing, this blissful, empowered place where she was nothing but rhythm and resonance.

And then there was Lydia. Lydia who had hurtled into his life – into their lives – with hair like fire, eyes like amethysts and a fuck-me scent so palpable that he’d betrayed the only woman he’d ever loved.

And they said females were the moody ones. Yeah – right. No one did moods like Alpha male werewolves.

As if reading her mind, he leaned into her again, pupils dark, irises glowing like a forest caught in the last rays of sun before dusk… “Do you want me to make you come?” “Is that a trick question?

At the sound of my name, those two worlds on either side of me collide, and my lips meet his. Time ceases to exist, and so, apparently does any logic that my mind is hanging on to. Logic would say that this is insane; every other fibre of my being says it's right.

Death is my redemption,” she whispered, her tears falling on his chest before rolling into the lapping ocean. He stilled for a moment, and she felt something warm and wet slide down her right temple and past her ear. His tear. His nose brushed against her forehead, before his lips pressed a kiss to it. “It seems we're at a bit of an impasse, then. Because your survival is mine.

Don’t be sorry for the truth. A harsh truth is less damaging than a tender lie, and the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

Do you remember what we just did? Please tell me you remember what we just did." She briefly toyed with the idea of lying and saying no, just to see the look on his face, but she'd had enough of having her brain played with – it wouldn't be too sporting to do the same to him. "Yes, I remember, and don't you think for one minute that just because you had me on my back screaming I was 'yours'," she waved four fingers in quotation marks in front of his face, "that it gives you any kind of ownership over me, because it doesn't." He looked annoyed, then relieved, then he laughed. "Yeah, whatever, baby.

Endings bring new beginnings. Love has many truths. And knights come in all colours.

Even after it all, would you dance with me again in the eye of the storm?” “I'd dance with you until the end of forever.

Every sacred mission, every hunt for hidden relics, every pilgrimage from one end of the earth to the other … I was looking for you.

Everything that matters hurts, until it doesn't matter anymore.

God damn it, don’t you do this. You have no idea how badly I want you right now. I’d love nothing more than to bury myself inside you, and feel you lose yourself around me as you scream my name; the very idea of fucking the woman I love, finally, after ten thousand years – of having you feel just what it is you mean to me – is so hard to bear I’m all but fallen at your feet. But I’ll be damned if it happens here of all places. I’m not going to screw you in Hell, Mary. I gave in and took your blood, and God knows you have the power to bring me to my knees, but when I love-fuck you, I want to do it in my home. So do you think you could humour me just a little longer?” She gaped at him. “Did you just say, ‘love-fuck’?

God, no. I don’t want to tame her, I want to watch her. I just want to watch her be herself – it turns me on like nothing else.

God,” she butted her head into his chest, “I'm so angry with myself.” “What? Why?” “Because … this is my mess I dragged you into, and you don't deserve any of it, and I feel like I'm ruining you with every single thing I say, and…” she lifted her head, eyes shimmering, “I'm a selfish, selfish bitch. Because all I can think about, is whether I'll regret it in three hours, when we walk out of here, and I never know, not even once, what it's like to be with a really nice guy.

Grief came in waves, sometimes big, sometimes small, but even on the calmest days, the grief remained. The tide still came ashore.

Half naked, he drank her in with his eyes, imprinting this moment into his mind. This, he would take to his death – the woman that stirred him to life.

He called to her primal side; the ancient aspect of her animal self that wanted to submit. It wanted to submit to him; to sacrifice all of who she was at the altar of his maleness and lay herself bare for his taking.

He could have watched her all night. He could watch her for an eternity and still never be able to capture the essence of what it is that makes ‘love’.

He pulled out a dagger from ... she wasn't sure where. Did he have that in his loin cloth? What else does he have in there? (Amy's thoughts, The Witching Pen)

He thought he’d lived through everything. Only now did he realise he’d merely existed.

He took the pen and book from her and faltered. “Just write anything – anything trivial that won't matter if it comes to pass.” “Erm...” God, he was useless at this. Elena's hair turned blue. “Hey!” “What?” “I don't want blue hair! What the hell did you write that for?” “It seemed trivial.” “Blue hair – blue? That's trivial? What if I can't undo it?” Karl stared at her blankly. His throat went dry. He felt like a total dickhead, but writing really wasn't his strong point, so he went for humour instead and flashed her a grin. “I was going to write that all your clothes fall off, but figured you may have a problem with that. This was the second thing that came to mind.” (Karl and Elena)

Hope – or perhaps delusion – was a flame that had stayed lit, even though its scorching light would hurt. It had refused to go out.

How can you lose me? You’ve owned me from the first moment I saw you.

I don't know what we're doing here – you and me … I don't know what we are or what we can be, but this doesn't have to be about that. This can just be about … a chance. Taking a chance.

I don’t think of faith as something you need to have in the world, or in some deity or religion or whatever; I think having faith is about trusting in yourself, and trusting that you’ll know what to do when life gets complicated. I’m not scared of complications. But I am scared of walking away from something I want with every fibre of my being, without even trying to have it.

If she wanted this man to trust her, to open up to her, she would have to strip every last piece of herself away, like he had been stripped. That's the only way he would let her in. The challenge seemed insurmountable, maybe because he seemed insurmountable.

If you're waiting for me to declare my undying love for you, I can't do that yet, blood-bond or no blood-bond. If you think I'm the swoony type of heroine you find in romance novels, who'll fall into your arms just because you saved me from an alternate reality or whatever, get ready to leave empty handed, because I don't want to be caught.

I’ll never let go of you again,” she whispered. “I swear it.

I loved you instantly, because angels can love instantly.

I love your independence, I love that you don't swoon, I love that you'll fight me with your last breath if you think I'm wrong, and if I ever have to catch you, I swear I'll make sure you're standing on your feet as quickly as you can manage it.

I'm hoping you end up happily married to the man of your dreams and have a hoard of beautiful kids that'll keep you on your toes by turning your neighbours into various types of pond-life." He then shot her his signature grin. "But if it happens to be me, then I wouldn't say no." (Karl to Elena in The Witching Pen)

I’m only saying what you won’t. He’s a hunk, admit it. A tall, dark, exotic hunk who wants to bed you, and you must be a fucking nun, because it’s been three weeks since you met him and you’re going to have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina with forceps soon, they’re growing into intelligent life form—

So much ice. She thumbed a drying tear away. How much water can the weight of ice carry?

It may be our actions that define us, but it is our reaction that changes the course of things.

...it only takes one voice, at the right pitch, to start an avalanche.

It’s only through the degradation of the soul that you can know who you really are; when all else is stripped away, leaving you bare.” Somehow, his black eyes darkened, the venom in his words more deadly than a viper’s bite. “Let me degrade you, Katherine.

It took Pueblo a few seconds to take in his surroundings. The first thing he realised was that he felt bruised all over; the second was that his clothes were waterlogged, even more than before, from the quicksand; and the third, was that he had landed on his front and was lying on a large, uncomfortable stone. No, wait… In his disoriented state, he shifted his weight. The stone didn't move. He was lying on his own fucking erection.

I was a coward. I've been a coward. So have you. We've both got blood on our hands. We're not the heroes who saved the world, we're the villains who survived it. I've made my peace with that. You should, too, because guilt is a weight you'll never swim away from.

Love finds you, not the other way around, and you can’t run from it.

Love. It seemed impossible that she could love him, but she was so deep in him there was really nowhere to go but further in. So this is what love was. Uncontrollable. Consuming. But so irresistible you wanted to be consumed.

Maybe I should be still; accept my fate. But I have tasted freedom, known love – I have had choice and learnt what it is to have a human heart, not just a compliant one.

Melody perfected was a song in itself – a ballad between notes that held all notes together. It was emotion unfurled and impeccably orchestrated, and if it did its job right, it would have no sense of itself. Melody became the story; its song and the singer, one force.

None of us are ordinary – we just settle into ordinary lives.

One of the greatest lies ever told is that there’s no power in vulnerability.

One thing I’ve learnt about humans: you can’t judge their strength by the size of their actions, but by the devotion of an act, no matter how small.

Only those who do not wish to see can be deceived.

Pieces of your heart broke every day when you were a mother.