Best 757 quotes in «suspense quotes» category

Cradling her to his chest, he cursed himself for taking too much blood. He was certain he hadn't taken enough for her to need a transfusion, but it had clearly left her weak. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, glad she hadn't found the deed in his thoughts. He had feared he wouldn't be able to hide it from her. The dog began to whine again. "It's okay, boy," he murmured. "She's okay. She's just tired." Several minutes passed while he stroked her hair and held her close despite the pain it caused. She was petite and looked as though she only weighed about a hundred pounds. After spending all damned night digging his sorry ass up, no wonder she passed out. "I haven't seen it yet," she mumbled against his neck as consciousness returned, "but I'm willing to bet your ass is actually quite nice." Startled laughter escaped him, inspiring another groan. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much." "Sorry. I couldn't resist.

Da até pra impressionar, mas chega de pressionar! Deixe os seus problemas pra depois ja que a gente sempre tem nós dois. Nao vale a pena se enfrentar, Nos de uma chance de tentar. Não vale se enfeitar do velho e achar que tudo é um espelho... De que vale se enfeiar com o que veio e reclamar no anseio do que ja foi feio? Sopra um sambinha... Ou um enredo! É só pra nos dois mesmo...que medo!

Dance...even when you're alone; it makes you feel good.

Dark alleys, like social networks, are romantic, because you never know what might happen while I perform there every Caturday night. Cats do know, but won't tell. So don’t even ask.

Darkness fell, gathering sin.

[D]ear...You just charmed the pants off her with that hunting trip!

Depression is not dramatic, but it is total. It’s sneaky - you almost don’t notice it at first. Like a cat burglar, it comes in through an open window while you’re sleeping. It takes little things at first; your appetite, your desire to return phone calls. Then it comes back for the big stuff, like your will to live. Then next thing you know, your legs are filled with sand. The thought of brushing your teeth fills you with dread, it seems like such an impossible task. Suddenly you’re living your life in black and white – nothing is bright, nothing is pretty anymore. Music sounds tinny and distant. Things you found funny seem dull and off-key.

...[D]espite the concoction's disgusting lecture, it's cleared every blemish from my face, as promised. I am a Buzzard-created beauty, head to toe.

Creatures, Malorie thinks. What a cheap word.

Detective Inspector Carver took a picture from the breast pocket of his suit. He handed it to me. ‘This is what you did, Michael. Take a good look. See if it jogs your memory.’ I gawped at the mutilated corpse of a naked young girl lying on a blood-soaked double bed. Her hands were bound to the brass headboard with duct tape. Blood covered her upper body, and her long blonde hair was streaked a murderous shade of red. One eye stared at the ceiling as if searching for salvation, the other, a bloody unrecognisable pulp, bore no relation to its sightless counterpart. ‘Carla Marie Coombs. Twenty-one years of age. Do you recognise her, Michael?

dianemoorewriter.com February 11, 2015 · From Love Thy Neighbor" On journalism and news purists as well as why I pursued print instead of TV journalism/news at the No. 1 journalism school in the country: news reporters are willing to take risks "so that people can base their lives on a foundation of truth not lies. That's why I do it -- to be the one responsible voice in the crowd." Page 105' "Love Thy Neighbor

Do not be so ridiculous, I can more easily find you someone else.” Gripping the bars of his prison so strongly that the bones of his knuckles showed prominently through his pale skin, the monster growled again, “I will have no other.” Nearing the end of his patience, Klaus demanded, “Why? Why are you being so impossible?” Turning to the diminutive creature beneath the blanket, he smiled nastily, his light red eyes gleaming, “Because he wants her.

Do not tell me what I think you're going to or I swear to God, I'm going to fly to Brazil and go all black ops on this guy for cheating on you.

Death. It is a strange stalker, one that we spend our whole lives running from, some more successful than others.

Did somebody die?” “Yes,” I replied. “Who?” he asked, starting to freak out. I pulled out my notepad and asked him if he knew a Marcie Tucker. “Marcie? Hm, Marcie, it doesn't ring a bell but… Oh yeah, the temp who's filling in while my regular assistant is out, I think her name is Marcie. In fact, she was supposed to be here today. I was actually starting to worry that… Wait. Is she…” “Unfortunately yes,” I said, “Marcie was found in her apartment late last night uh… no longer alive.” My bedside manner has never been my strong suit. Dr. Taggart looked distressed and began to ramble incoherently for a minute. I let him work through it though, I figured it was his way of grieving. I wouldn't have even paid attention to it except for the fact that it was kind of goofily, ineptly… well, poignant: "Oh, uh, Oh my God. That's terrible. I uh… I hope she didn't have any family. I mean, I don't hope she didn't have any family, what I mean is, if she uh… if she didn't have any family then there would be nobody to get all bummed out about this and uh… you know, when something like this happens, you always think about the poor, heartbroken family, so uh… if she doesn't have any family then uh… the bright side would be that nobody would, you know, have to be all bummed out." Hm. I guess I never thought of it that way. Awkward wording aside, he's kind of got a point there.

Distance and time and a whitewashed mind hadn’t kept a child from growing, from existing, from demanding a place on this earth.

DJ saw the change in his expression the moment before he dropped the ax, reached out with his gloved hand and, cupping her neck, drew her to him. “I believe you owe me a kiss.

Does it have a bed?" Liz asked doing her best to prop him up. "A couple of old army cots that probably have more mildew than a politician has bullshit.

Do it, Octavian” She ghosted the tips of her fingers along the hem of his shirt. “Touch me.” He growled low in his throat, his forehead dropping another inch toward her shoulder, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Be my angel, Riley, not my siren. Don’t tempt me.” Moistening her lips with a sweep of her tongue, Riley glided her fingers over his belt, tracing the strip of leather to the silver buckle in the center. She felt rather than heard his deep inhalation and the tremor that raked his powerful body. Driven by his surrender, she used two fingers to walk over the square carvings etched into his abdomen, biting her lip to stop the grin that pulled when he groaned. “I want to be both for you, Octavian,” she whispered, letting her lips brush the curve of his shoulder.

Don't starve an instinct with a lie on, Never hit or deceive a wounded lion. He heals faster than you can imagine And hurts even more when in famine.

Don't sit back and watch other people live out your dreams

Do you know how you can tell if a monster's fit to walk the world again, Mr. Bishop? If they're truly redeemed and not just telling you what you want to hear? You give them a day without​ consequences, and you watch to see what thay do with it.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Do you think they’ll ever be a place for us? I mean, do you think there’s a place for someone who lives under the radar, someone who has to pretend, someone who is a spy?” “Yes.” Daly said it with such confidence that I sat up in my bed, my cast dangling over the edge. “How do you know?” I asked. “There has to be. I don’t usually philosophize, but I do know one thing.” “What’s that?” “That even when we’re pretending, even when we’re hiding under wigs or accents or clothes that aren’t our style, we can’t hide our nature. Just like I knew from the moment I met you that you would choose this life. And just like I knew, when you told me about this mission, that you would agree to help the CIA find this girl. You would sacrifice yourself and your time with your brother to save someone. It’s just who you are.” “I’ve already messed things up, Daly. What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t do it?” “That’s the thing, though. You’ll find a way.” I lay back again and buried the side of my face into my pillow. “I’m just not sure how.” “If you continue to think as you’ve always thought, you’ll continue to get what you’ve always got,” Daly said. I considered that. I wasn’t ready to give up. At least not yet. “That one is Itosu wisdom, in case you wondered.” I yawned into the phone. “It’s good advice.” “I’ll let you go. You should be resting. Don’t you have school in the morning?” He said the last part in a teasing tone. “Yeah, if I make it through another day at school. Maybe they’ll get rid of me—kick me out or something. You’d think I would have inherited some of my mom’s artistic genius.” “Can I give you one last bit of advice, Alex?” “Sure.” “Throw it all out the window.” “What?” I stared at my open window. A slight breeze blew the gauzelike drapes in and out as if they were a living creature. “Everything you’ve learned about art, the lines, the colors, the pictures in your head from other artists—just throw it all out. And throw out everything you’ve learned from books and simulations about being a good spy. Don’t try to be like someone else. Don’t force yourself to follow a set of rules that weren’t meant for you. Those work for 99.99% of the people.” “You’re telling me I’m the .01%?” I asked skeptically. “No, I’m telling you you’re not even on the scale.” Daly’s soft breathing traveled through the phone line. “With a mind like yours, you can’t be put in a box. Or even expected to stand outside it. You were never meant to hold still, Alex. You have to stack all the boxes up and climb and keep climbing until you find you. I’m just saying that Alexandra Stewart will find her own way.” The cool night air brushed the skin of my arm and I wished it was Daly’s hand instead. “You sure have a lot of wisdom tonight,” I told him. I expected him to laugh. Instead, the line went silent for a moment. “Because I’m not there. Because I wish I was.” His words were simple, but his message reached inside my heart and left a warmth—a warmth I needed. “Thank you, James.” “Take care, Alex.” I wanted to say more, to keep him at my ear just a little longer. Yet the words itching to break free couldn’t be said from over two thousand miles away. They needed to happen in person. I wasn’t going home until I found Amoriel. Which meant I had to complete this mission. Not just for Amoriel anymore. I had to do it for me. (page 143)

Dragged from your room. A red crease of sleep visible down your cheek, eyes foggy with the adjustment from a state of rest to a state of arrest. You said nothing. Even when your face was mashed into the carpet, your rights read out, their knees and elbows pressed in your back. Your nightie rode high up your thighs. No underwear. The indignity of it all.

Dreema and you disagree. She cottons to Richmond, but you can't be weaned off Pelham. So I offer you a fair middle ground: relocate to northern Virginia. She transfers to the state morgue on Braddock Road, and you get to stay near your old beat.

Either you're going to shoot us or you're not. The ball always lands on red or black, never both.

Elron: These were happy woods. The entire place was happy from the house to the gardens to the woods. But this one little garden had something extra. It was excited. Something odd for plants and trees. They were prone to joy, happiness, sorrow and tranquility but not something as active as excitement. Someone had spent a lot of time here and a bit of their personality had seeped into the place. That someone was excited about life and probably young. Strange. Few youth of any race knew enough to transmit their feelings. The trees whispered about a person, moving and bending with change. The plants gossiped about tenderness shown them but the air breathed words of rage and despair in my ear. The plants didn't know gender but I got the impression of a woman, a young woman. The altar indicated she was a witch. A good witch.

Elsa's mother no longer spoke to her of men and love, but of duty and fate and accepting one’s burden. As far as Elsa could tell, if love really was the inherited female domain, then women were saddled with the biggest burden of all. It was pressing down upon them, the way the sea pressed down upon the creatures of the deep.

Empty words are like droplets of rain pattering upon the ground. It is difficult to find a single feature that distinguishes one from another.

Eric waited all his life for love and, in meeting, Tina thought he had it. What he got wasn't quite what he'd dreamed about.

Esperó que todos sus secretos permanecieran ocultos entre sus paredes para siempre.

Even I don’t know myself... In fact, I don’t know if I really have a self at all, as I’m constantly playing different roles and pretending – not so much on stage as in real life...

Even in death, her mother was winning.

Even the bruising couldn't disguise the strength of his features. His jaw, cheekbones, nose and--even his forehead--nothing was lacking in confidence about him--in the looks or personality department. What she wouldn't give to have his confidence. And absolution of guilt.

Ever seen the play Arsenic and Old Lace?

Every living soul in this universe should be given a chance at love – their personal shot at having the most powerful and mysterious thing that ever existed. You could love forever, or your love could burn short and bright for just a few moments in the history of time. But however you did it, I supposed the idea was to make it count; to create a story worthy of a new fairytale, a poem, or a new constellation that would wind itself into an infinite thread of light in your name. Maybe that was the whole point of love – to create an eternal story of your own.

Everything changes, and there’s no denying that. But change isn’t always bad, as long as you hold onto who you truly are, and hold onto each other.

Everything changes except human behavior and its consequences.

Faces close, they breathed into each other, their bodies slick with water and sweat.

Fantasy games are unbecoming to a lady, she says, closing the subject. "And the idea that you would even dream of spending time with some strange boy when you could be reinforcing your relationship with your Magnolia compatriots leaves me breathless. You are going to have to earn the respect of the other girls.

Favorite Quotations. I speak my mind because it hurts to bite my tongue. The worth of a book is measured by what you carry away from it. It's not over till it's over. Imagination is everything. All life is an experiment. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly.

February is the cruelest month in western Oregon.

Fiction: Because real life just isn’t that much fun sometimes.

Fill me in on the details of your life.” “I thought you didn’t give a shit.” “It’ll give me something to do while I wait for you to stab me to death.

Find my weak points, but more importantly, find yours.

Gambling wasn't even about the money, was it? Not the action, not the bells, not the adrenaline, those were just add-ons. It was about the luck . . . the jouissance of gambling, it was pure, goddamned luck. The high holiest of holies.

God allows us to face the tension whether we like it or not.

Goddammit! How does the world keep spinning with women on the planet?" Ian St. John in THE POMPEII SCROLL

God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes he uses anonymous people.