欧宝娱乐

“You're bossy, arrogant, intrusive, annoying... "
His minor grin amplified.
See! Totally unrepentant...
"Do I have anything going for me?"
"... you can be sweet, you're a cuddler, and you carried me out of a burning building..."
"I'm a cuddler?"
"You spoon."
His brows went up. "That's important enough to be on your list?"
"Uh... yeah."
[He's grinning] "Fuckin' ridiculous what women think is important.”
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“Don't call me baby when you're pissed, Sweet Pea."
"Don't call me Sweet Pea at all, baby”
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“He started to pull away again but she called his name so he stopped.
鈥渊别补丑?鈥�
鈥淏efore you go, give me the dimples,鈥� she demanded.
That thing in his throat prickled and Hawk dipped his head and kissed the indentation at the base of his wife鈥檚 throat. Then he lifted his head and smiled at her.
Her hand came to his face and he felt the pad of her thumb in one of his dimples.
Then her eyes moved from her thumb to his and she smiled back.
听&谤诲辩耻辞;
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“You live in your head too much, you curl up and shut shit out and spend so much time doing it, you forget to live your life. You can鈥檛 live your life in your head. That isn鈥檛 living.”
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“Our relationship wasn鈥檛 easy. It wasn鈥檛 mellow. It wasn鈥檛 comfortable and sedate. He was too bossy and I was too much of a smartass. We bantered and sometimes we fought. But I鈥檇 learned I was completely unable to endure Hawk being mad at me and then I鈥檇 noticed that Hawk felt the same. No grudges were ever held. We created sparks but those sparks never caught the kind of fire that could do damage. Instead, we got over it and moved on.”
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“In this world of ours, the sparrow must live like a hawk if he is to fly at all.”
― Hayao Miyazaki

“I pulled the MG in beside him at the curb and he got in.
"This thing ain't big enough for either one of us," he said. "When you getting something that fits?"
"It goes with my preppy look," I said. "You get one of these, they let you drive around the north shore, watch polo, anything you want."
I let the clutch in and turned right on Dartmouth.
"How you get laid in one of these?" Hawk said.
"You just don't understand preppy," I said. "I know it's not your fault. You're only a couple generations out of the jungle. I realize that. But if you're preppy you don't get laid in a car."
"Where do you get laid if you preppy?"
I sniffed. "One doesn't," I said.
"Preppies gonna be outnumbered in a while," Hawk said.”
― Robert B. Parker

“You're cute in the morning," he told me.

"I am?" I asked.

"Cute and sweet."

"Mm," I mumbled, glad he thought that but I'd always been a morning person. I was a night person too. I was an anytime person when I wasn't stressy and in a bad mood.

One of his hands left my back and I watched his eyes get heated and intense as they studied my face.

Then he did something beautiful, something amazing, something that, if I'd had any doubts as to my certainty, they would have disintegrated.

He tenderly slid the backs of his knuckles against the skin of my cheek while he muttered, "A year and a half. Totally fuckin' missed out.”
― Kristen Ashley, Mystery Man

“The cats at the edge of the clearing were staring up at the sky, their eyes huge with fear. As he looked upward, Fireheart heard the beating of wings and saw a hawk circling above the trees, its harsh cry drifting on the air. At the same time he realized that one cat had not taken shelter; Snowkit was tumbling and playing in the middle of the open space.
"Snowkit!" Speckletail yowled desperately.”
― Erin Hunter, A Dangerous Path

“Ghost bird, do you love me?" he whispered once in the dark, before he left for hs expedition training, even though he was the ghost. "Ghost bird, do you need me?" I loved him, but I didn't need him, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. A ghost bird might be a hawk in one place, a crow in another, depending on the context. The sparrow that shot up into the blue sky one morning might transform mid-flight into an osprey the next. This was the way of things here. There were no reasons so mighty that they could override the desire to be in accord with the tides and the passage of seasons and the rhythms underlying everything around me.”
― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation

“Go to him, Sweet Pea.”
― Kristen Ashley, Motorcycle Man

“If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing. A writer who appreciates the seriousness of writing so little that he is anxious to make people see he is formally educated, cultured or well-bred is merely a popinjay. And this too remember; a serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.”
― Ernest Hemingway

“He stepped into the morning feeling more alive than he'd felt in months. Hold fast and believe in me, love, he
whispered across the centuries. Because love and belief were serious magic in and of themselves.”
― Karen Marie Moning, Beyond the Highland Mist

“By the ancient bond of the spellclave, I command you, Spider. Stop, or be turned to stone!”
― Katherine Roberts, Spellfall

“You鈥檙e my dream. I want to crawl inside your skin and see how you taste from the inside. I could spend a decade just listening to you sigh like that. Spend time? Give me every fucking minute and I鈥檒l worship you like the sick, depraved bastard I am.”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“The Hawk hired fifty harpers and jesters and taught them new songs. Songs about the puny fairy fool who had been chased away from Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea by the legendary
Hawk. And being such a legend in his own time, his tales were ceded great truth and staying power. The players
were delighted with the epic grandeur of such a wild tale. When they had rehearsed to perfection the ditties and
refrains portraying the defeat of the fool, the Hawk sent them into the counties of Scotland and England. Grimm
accompanied the group of players traveling to Edinburgh to help spread the tale himself, while Hawk spent late hours by the candle scribbling, crossing out and perfecting his command for when the fool came. Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, he would reach for his set of sharp awls and blades and begin carving toy soldiers and dolls, one by one.”
― Karen Marie Moning, Beyond the Highland Mist

“The savage possession at no time altered. If anything, it was as fucking monstrous as him. It lingered and clung to his skin making Hawk think things he had no business thinking about. He already knew if he allowed himself to fall and sink into her she鈥檇 be the best pussy he鈥檇 ever had.”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“Don't bother trying to guilt me. Ask my other. It doesn't work.”
― Karen Marie Moning, Beyond the Highland Mist

“He'd always known if he were this near to Gia it would break out both of their beasts. Only, hers has always been the more powerful when it had him wanting to come to heel, to do anything she wanted, to offer up his battered soul for her own keeping.”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“Are you insane?鈥� His voice was pure fucking rust. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e the head shrink, you don鈥檛 say shit like that to the likes of me. I鈥檓 manipulative, incapable of remorse. Is that the kind of person you want around you?”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“He鈥檇 never wanted anyone more to belong to him wholly, then and now.
Every dream.
Every fantasy.
Every whispered secret.
He wanted it all to belong to him.
Because monsters liked to own things.
To make them as dirty as they were.”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“You have no fucking idea, little bit of a thing, so old are you that you know everything? So worldly with the round eyes and the way you see the good in everything, even me. Forget everything you fucking think you know. The second I was inside you people would know, you鈥檇 be different, they鈥檇 treat you differently, tarred with my fucking ruined brush, all the rumors flying around, people who had once been your friends because they鈥檇 know I had hands all over you. I don鈥檛 fuck like a gentleman, little bit, I fuck like an animal, that stains a little girl like you. You want pretty-fucking-romance, to show off a man to your friends, to go to parties with him on your arm, so fucking meek and boring, that鈥檚 not me, will never be me. I鈥檓 not normal, the wiring is not right in my head, and I鈥檓 not for you, walk away before I鈥檝e had my mouth on that pussy and drank down your honey, because if you don鈥檛 and I taste you, I feel how it is to shove my cock as deep and as hard as I can inside you, it鈥檚 all over, you get me? You hearing what I鈥檓 telling you? Game over, 鈥榗ause I don鈥檛 play by anyone's rules but my own and my rules are nasty, my rules are fucking filthy.”
― V. Theia, Filthy Love

“Hawk?"
He gazed up at her, still crouched on the floor, ready to pounce if she so much as moved an inch.”
― Karen Marie Moning, Beyond the Highland Mist

“No one but death the redeemer will humble that head.”
― Robinson Jeffers

“I鈥檓 not a humming-bird. I鈥檓 a hawk; a tiny leashed hawk, pecked to death by these large, white, flabby, wormy hens.”
― Sinclair Lewis, Main Street

“The tears fell like rivers down Tern鈥檚 cheeks. He did not want to cry. He wanted to be strong like Raven, like Hawk, but they fell all the same. He tried to hold them back, but that only made it difficult to breathe.”
― Noor Al-Shanti, Children of the Dead City

“She isn't sure how long they sit like that, the two of them side by side, lost in their own thoughts, but it's a soft scratching sound that brings her attention back to the clearing. Opening her eyes, she looks across to where they had left the prone bird and is startled to see the hawk no longer lying beneath the leaf litter but standing upright, its head cocked, one beady orange eye peering at her with suspicion. "Look," she whispers, reaching for Jack's arm.
Jack follows her gaze. The bird studies them a moment then hops clumsily away through the leaves towards the base of a tree. Lillian holds her breath, watching as it half-extends one wing. It hops a few more paces but it looks off-balance, too damaged to fly; but it's as if it hears her thought and determines to prove her wrong for suddenly it stretches out both wings and, in one fluid movement, takes flight across the clearing to land in the lowest branch of a nearby tree. Lillian feels her heart beating in her chest, a heady mix of excitement and elation.
The sparrowhawk perches on the bough, its eye still fixed in their direction before it glides off the branch and sails low across the clearing in a showy swoop before soaring away through the trees and out of sight.
"Well how about that?" says Jack. "Lazarus rises.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“A cleverness she guessed his father and brother couldn't quite match, possibly because they had never had to. They were lavish house birds with fine, colorful plumage, and he was the hawk.”
― Julian Greystoke, The Wolf and The Hawk

“Grow a backbone. Stand up. Sharpen your claws. Retaliate against the monsters. Slay the dragons. Stand up for Morgue and yourself.”
― Joe Dixon, Take Them to the Morgue

“Really? You think I got to where I am now, based solely on being the strongest hawk in the sky?”
― Lauren Lola, Dasig