Quenya

“Honor you? he breathed. Sweetest Erienne, how could I not? You are ever in my thoughts, bending me, plucking at the fibers of my mind. The man inside me trembles whenever you're near, and I groan with agony for the touch of your hand laid upon me in a soft caress.”
― Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, A Rose in Winter

“Our children begin by loving us; as they grow up they judge us; sometimes they forgive us.”
― Mary Higgins Clark, Where Are You Now?

“There is revenge and then there is justice. Sometimes the two are met as one."

-Christopher”
― Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, A Rose in Winter

“Gold winked at his wrist as he pressed his choice for two coffees on the AutoChef built into the side panel. "Cream?"
"Black."
"A woman after my own heart." Moments later, he opened the protective door and offered her a china cup in a delicate saucer. "We have more of a selection on the plane," he said, then settled back with his coffee.
"I bet." The steam rising from her cup smelled like heaven. Eve took a tentative sip -- and nearly moaned.
It was real. No simulation made from vegetable concentrate so usual since the depletion of the rain forests in the late twentieth. This was the real thing, ground from rich Columbian beans, singing with caffeine.
She sipped again, and could have wept.
"Problem?" He enjoyed her reaction immensely, the flutter of the lashes, the faint flush, the darkening of the eyes -- a similar response, he noted, to a woman purring under a man's hands.
"Do you know how long it's been since I had real coffee?"
He smiled. "No."
"Neither do I." Unashamed, she closed her eyes as she lifted the cup again. "You'll have to excuse me, this is a private moment. We'll talk on the plane.”
― J.D. Robb, Naked in Death