Best 27 quotes in «rogue quotes» category

Being strong in your own mind isn't the same as being strong!

A poet if anything must be a poet and far more than just a writer of words. The poet is the storyteller, the shaman, the jester and the rogue. The poet lives in the world of language and imagination, love, death & obsession and yet still sees the universe in the smallest of everyday things that we merely take for granted.

For a reputed rogue, you're damnably hard to seduce.

Food shouldn’t be that shade of green, lass.” – Faolán MacIntyre

He turned and narrowed his eyes at her. "There is a certain sort of girl who wants the wolf to eat out of her hand. If you are such, I'll warn you, she doesn't keep her fingers long." Emily met his gaze " Some wolves can be tamed." "Then we call them lapdogs, my dear- and you'll put no leash on me.

He lived to see her smile, to make her laugh, to kiss her. He wanted to spend all day reading with her, all night loving her. Find every ticklish spot and every place that made her moan and sigh. He wanted a life with her, but it wasn’t possible. ~ Godric Wicked Designs

His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?” The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.

He was moderately truthful towards men, but to women lied like a Cretan-a system of ethics above all others calculated to win popularity at the first flush of admission into lively society.

I go out an honest man, but you stay in a rogue.

Holy shit, Riley." The human lowered his glass with a look of disbelief and horror. "The Order chapterhouse itself? So, what you're telling me is you've gone insane?" "Very likely," I muttered. "One of your hatchlings?" "No." I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "One of them." He stared at me, then used both hands to point at himself. "Okay, see this face? This is my what-the-hell face. Seriously, Riley. What. The. Hell. You snuck into enemy territory, dropped a figurative wasp down their pants and then brought that mess here, so I have to deal with it? Are you out of your freaking mind? Why would you do such a thing? "It's...complicated." He continued to give me his what-the-hell expression, and I scowled.

I guess I just don't get the point. It's like, why should you bother getting attached to anything if, A: It's never gonna last, and B: It hurts like hell when it's over?

I had no desire to hear another woman tell my boyfriend how hot he was. If I wanted him to know, I'd damn well tell him myself.

No, no. By all means, lead on. Nothing gets the blood pumping more than hunting down the biggest threat to the realm and deciding we'll just wing it.

I’m not immortal. I’m totally killable.” She sucked in a breath as her pitch rose. “And I’m blond. Blonds always die first.

I was a terrible prince. After my parents were murdered, that place reminded me of nothing but ghosts and shackles. Life as a rogue suits me much better, but even I cannot stand idly by and let our people suffer.

It was as though she faced a lion—raw beauty, extreme power and a posed threat—yet she couldn’t look away. He would devour her. ~ Emily/Godric Wicked Designs

Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that.” Faolán exhaled. “Creeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I’m jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat’s.” “I wasn’t creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I’ll creep anywhere I like,” Colleen muttered with a petulant scowl. “But I wasn’t creeping.

Rogue turned to her, his face no longer quite so hard. A curl of smoke rose from the pistol in his hand. Rotten apples fell from the tree, splatting at her feet. "Poor little girlie," he said, and there did seem to be pitty in his voice. "I told you you'd get your fingers bit.

Refusing to lean back against him, Colleen sat ramrod straight until they reached the road. “I guess I should say thank you for saving my life,” she muttered then turned and slapped Faolán hard across the face. “And that’s for you having to save it in the first place. And I’m not your woman, you big, arrogant, lying, betraying…faery loving…” She searched for the perfect insult and couldn’t find one, “…Scot.” She gave a very unladylike snort. “Happy now? That fiery enough for you?

Some people want to be in vogue even at the cost of being a rogue.

Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room.” – Rod Serling

The rogue has suffered much. He needs someone to remind him of why he once believed in a good path...

The loss of her and of Nevaharday shattered my soul into what I thought were irreparable pieces. The pain was unbeara¬ble, but I dreamt of her often. Those dreams were my solace.

This man was a rogue, not because circumstances forced him to be a criminal but because he was born that way. He was probably conning his mother out of her milk the moment he could grin. He'd charm the clothes off a virgin in twenty minutes. And if the poor fool took him home, he'd drink her dad under the table, beguile her mother, charm her grandparents, and treat the girl to a night she'd never forget. In the morning, her dad would be sick with alcohol poisoning, the good silver would be missing together with the family car, and in a month, both the former virgin and her mother would be expecting.

You turn the lights on and off here and if you can’t sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room…” her voice broke off. “Wait. Can you read?” His chin took a slight tilt upward. “Aye,” Faolán replied, his voice cool, “in English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady’s ears. I can also count all the way up to…” He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, “…twenty.” – Faolán MacIntyre

This is my thesis: Do you know what is needful to turn an honest man into a rogue! A change of scene--a moment's forgetfulness suffice.

What of your sins, Rogue? If the hero encountered you today, would he spare you a date with his sword?