Best 39 quotes of M. A. George on MyQuotes

Aeron’s stone-faced expression cracked, as he turned to give me a dumbfounded look. Meeting his questioning eyes, I let out a little annoyed sigh, “I refuse to believe that you don’t know the meaning of ‘cojones’.” “I’m well aware of the meaning,” he raised his eyebrows, fighting back a smile. “Just a little surprised at your choice of words…” “Yeah, I can really paint a verbal picture,” I responded dryly.

Ah yes…” He made an exaggerated nod. “I was supposed to be filling you in on Nangí’s story.” He winked at me playfully, as I kept up my glare. “Now, where should I begin?” “Tell you what, let me get you started,” I came back. “Once upon a time, there was this über-creepy old man—who looks like he lives in a haunted shack and eats small children for breakfast—and I decided to make him my new best friend becaaauuse… Okay, your turn.

As one of the little streams starts snaking my way, inching closer to the toe of my shoe, I hop over the spreading puddle and out of its reach. I don’t look back to see if it’s going to follow me. I’m already three blocks away and still gaining speed

But you know as well as I do that anger won’t solve anything.” “I beg to differ,” he shrugged. “Anger can be quite rewarding…at least for those of us who have the option of blasting our enemies to oblivion.

Don’t be so concerned,” he whispered. “We will get through this, I promise.” “What makes you so certain?” I couldn’t help my skepticism. “We have no other choice,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Is that really all you can come up with?” I scowled. “Couldn’t you just lie and tell me you have some kind of secret badass weapon that is going to make this a piece of cake?

Fair enough…No inhaling battery acid,” I smirk. “We can’t breathe battery acid, can we?

For someone so intuitive,” he said, shaking his head, “sometimes you only see what you expect to see.

He’s close enough now that I can hear his footfall on the pavement, and I know my chances of outrunning him are slim. I’m practically in a full sprint, and my pounding heart is begging me to take it down a notch. I try to will my feet to keep pace with its beat; but I think it’s humanly impossible to run that fast. And then it dawns on me that my footsteps are the only ones I hear. Somewhere along the way, Tristan’s must have come to a stop. And I can’t quite explain why I’m running this fast in the first place. I slow to a jog, intending to just pick up with my original pace; but I can’t seem to suck in breaths fast enough to propel my feet any further. My molten shoes stutter to a stop, as my hands come to rest on my knees. I’m still wheezily sucking in breath after breath of thick, humid air, when I warily turn to look over my shoulder. Tristan’s standing about fifty feet back, hands on his hips and a completely flummoxed twist in his forehead, his chest rising and falling with equally winded gasps. Evidently I was running faster than I gave myself credit for. As he silently watches me, regaining his breath as I do mine, the confusion on his face turns to undeniable hurt (and not the physical kind). I’ve wounded him, and I can’t even explain why. Man, I really am an ass. I start the slow walk of shame back to where he stands, one hand upon my hip as I pull in a few more calming deep breaths. I’m debating whether to concoct some excuse for my behavior…Maybe I left my contacts out today, and didn’t recognize his face? Who would blame me for running for my life, if a stranger seemed to be following me? But as I amble closer—his wrinkled forehead already fading in the wake of a welcoming smile—I decide not to dig myself a deeper hole. I’m already a straight-up jerk. I’d rather not add lying to my repertoire.

I can finish that off and get you something better,” he offered. “You’d eat my leftovers?...” I felt like such a prima donna. “You’re a king.” “I’m a…hungry…king,” he shrugged, as he unassumingly glanced to the side. “I’m not picky.

I can only imagine what goes on in that head of yours…” he teased. “I assure you I haven’t taken up black magic, ritualistic sacrifice, or—” “Plushophilia?” I tagged on. “Excuse me?…” came his half-confused, half-intrigued reaction. “An obsession with stuffed animals,” I clarified. “I mean, you are a young one…” “Where did you come up with that?” He kept his hands firmly covering my eyes, but I could hear the amused smile in his voice. “Is that even a real word?” “I’m a doctor, I know these things,” I shrugged.

I decided that a movie marathon was clearly in order. I tried to narrow down the options. Anything romantic was definitely out, as was anything involving space travel, kings, or handsome princes. Preferably there should be no good-looking men whatsoever, lest they remind me of Aeron. Sadly, that eliminated practically everything.

I didn’t intend it to come out sarcastically, but I guess that’s just where my tone of voice automatically goes these days.

If by ‘foe’ you mean a brutal killer, then I suppose I’d fall into the ‘friend’ category,” I replied cynically. “Although in your case, we may have to find a secret option number three.

I’ve become remarkably good at blocking impossibly bizarre happenings from my consciousness. Denial can be a beautiful thing.

I’m not familiar with this word you were repeating before…‘cojones’, was it?” I blushed as Dominick patted me on the back. “Way to introduce him to the vernacular, Palta.

I paused for a moment, debating whether to turn and look what was happening. My senses told me Obo’s presence was still at my side, and turning my face into the barrel of a gun seemed like an ill-advised way to cap off this day of monumentally stupid decisions.

It’s a sad state of affairs when I’m the one bringing sanity to the equation

I wish I could say I’m low maintenance, but I like some of the finer things in life…like a toothbrush.

Me?...Stupid?” I fluttered my eyes innocently. “When have I ever done anything stupid?” “Don’t get me wrong, you’re the smartest person I know…” She fought back a smile. “But you have done some of the dumbest things I ever thought possible.” “So you have a point…” I shrugged. “Still not stopping me.

My instincts told me that death would somehow be…different. But my rational mind reminded me that I had probably tempted fate one too many times. At least, I thought it was my rational mind. It sure seemed like the usual voice inside my head. Thank God there was only one of them.

My only regret,” he gently tugged me back toward him, “would be leaving this world before naming you as my wife. If I die tomorrow, at least I’ll have that to my credit.” Wrapping his arms around my waist, he vowed, “You don’t have to be queen…but you will not fall into obscurity on a foreign world. You will bear the Omuran name, and I have to believe that will protect you.” He brought his forehead to rest against mine, adding sorrowfully, “I have to believe that our family line wasn’t meant to end with this.

Phrase the question any way you like…The answer will still be ‘Kiss my ass.

Safeguard your weaknesses, for your enemy will always use them against you. But more importantly …” He raised a single bony finger, waving it rhythmically to the cadence of his words. “Safeguard your true strengths. If he knows not what you are capable of, he will always underestimate you.” He fixed his unflinching eyes on mine. “And you are not to be underestimated.

See, that’s just it…You shouldn’t even know sayings like that,” I griped. “It takes normal people years to pick up on all those little phrases. Do you have any idea how stupid I feel, when I can’t even say ‘Hello, my name is Palta…Oh, and by the way—I’m the village idiot.’?

Seriously, Palta…” He was honestly puzzled, “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. What about your ears is supposed to be so bizarre?” “Um…You’d have to be blind to miss them,” I replied sarcastically. “If you’re not, you will be when you poke your eye out on one of them.

Silence upon silence, with a heaping pile of extra silence.

Suddenly, I saw ocean again—then another horizon line—but this time the deep blue sky was on the wrong side of the line…the Holy crap, we’re upside down side.

The cleanest civilization I’ve ever seen…and the number one thing you pack for a wedding is a jar of dirt?

There’s an empty seat next to me in the ‘intensely aggravating’ section…and it’s got your name on it

We broke into laughter—the kind that’s your only recourse when you feel like curling up in a fetal position and whimpering like a little girl.

With an ashamed sigh, I confessed, “You have seen nothing but the worst of me since then, Aeron. I’ve been a bitter, defiant, irrational shrew…and now I’m selfishly dragging you into a hopeless situation against your better judgment. What would possibly entice you to make good on a marriage proposal under such circumstances?” “You would…” his voice was gentle, as his troubled eyes searched mine. “If what I’ve seen is the worst of you…then it will be a miracle if I ever find a way to deserve you.

Wow…At least I can rest assured that you definitely can’t read my mind,” I remarked. “Clearly you know nothing about me…because the surest way to keep me from doing something is to tell me I have no other choice.

Yeah, sure,” I scoffed. “You’re the picture of respectability and moral character…You expect me to believe you were your parents’ worst nightmare? What was your criminal act of choice—drunken bar fights? Or maybe grand theft auto? Don’t tell me you sold the crown jewels to buy drugs…It’s so disappointingly cliché.

You and your ‘potential’,” I lazily rolled my eyes. “According to you, everyone has it…and no one is living up to it.

You can be intensely aggravating...” His expression struck me as closer to boredom than aggravation. “And somehow I suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve been told that.” “Nope,” I smiled mischievously. “Nor the last…

You didn’t just accidentally win my favor,” I dispute, slowly shaking my forehead against his. “You earned it. Now, if I can just save your life twenty or thirty more times…We might actually be able to call it even.

You get a kick out of shocking the pants off me, don’t you?” I shook my head with a smirk. He just shrugged with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily flitting toward my pants before returning to meet my gaze. “It’s an expression,” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you aren’t familiar with it, Mr. Smarty Pants.” “You have quite a repertoire of ‘pants’ references, don’t you?

You’re injured.” He flicks his chin at my bleeding leg. “We need to get that cleaned up.” “It’ll be fine,” I wave it off. “My mom will descend upon me with a bottle of peroxide the second I hit the door.

You scared the crap out of me,” I shove his bare chest with a growl. “Was that you at the front door?” “Ya think?” He fires back with a raise of his eyebrows, taking hold of my arm again, as he practically drags me back toward the front entry. “Did it occur to you to say something?” I shoot back with a scowl. “I thought you were some kind of psychopath.” My frown deepens, as I consider whether he might in fact be a psychopath.