Alys

“Blue is the color of the mind in borrow of the body; it is the color consciousness becomes when caressed; it is the dark inside of sentences, sentences which follow their own turnings inward out of sight like the whorls of a shell, and which we follow warily, as Alice after that rabbit, nervous and white, till suddenly — there! climbing down clauses and passing through ‘and’ as it opens — there — there — we’re here!... in time for tea and tantrums; such are the sentences we should like to love — the ones which love us and themselves as well — incestuous sentences — sentences which make an imaginary speaker speak the imagination loudly to the reading eye; that have a kind of orality transmogrified: not the tongue touching the genital tip, but the idea of the tongue, the thought of the tongue, word-wet to part-wet, public mouth to private, seed to speech, and speech... ah! after exclamations, groans, with order gone, disorder on the way, we subside through sentences like these, the risk of senselessness like this, to float like leaves on the restful surface of that world of words to come, and there, in peace, patiently to dream of the sensuous, and mindful Sublime.”
― William H. Gass, On Being Blue

“You might not believe this, but there is no one like her at this school."

"Oh I believe it," I said, thinking back to the time Angeline had forgotten her locker's combination and tried to get into it with an axe.

No one was really sure where she'd gotten it from.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Not everything about me is cute."

"That's true, some things are cute. The rest are sexy. Astonishing, agonizingly sexy. It's a wonder I can get anything done at all, when all I ever think about is the way your lips taste or how your fingertips feel on my skin or how your legs are..."

"Adrian, shut up.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I need it! I need it! It's a royal heirloom!"

"Adrian?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Come on, we need to go. I'll drive you home."

"No, I can't. Not until we get it. He stole it!”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart