Alys > Alys's Quotes

“Relax, having kids is years away. But can you imagine? Your brains, my charm, our collective good looks... then add in the usual physical abilities dhampirs get.

It's really not even fair to everyone else.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Don’t take the high ground and assume you already know what you’ll do. The truth is, when it comes to someone you love, you’ll find there isn’t anything you won’t do.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I’d sat down at her table and said, “Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece.” Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov.

Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. “Let’s get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can’t handle me telling you what’s what, then you’d better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don’t go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I’m here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class.”

I’d scooted my chair closer to the table. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I didn’t care about anything except her and the way touching her drove me wild, even as her calm and steady presence soothed the storms that raged within me.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“An image of Sydney's face appeared in my mind's eye, calm and lovely.
I believe in you.
My anxiety faded.
I took a deep breath and met the gazes of all those watching me in the room.
Who was I to do this?
I was Adrian Ivashkov.
And I was about to kick some ass.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Melbourne, I always knew you'd need to learn about this kind of thing. I 'd just kind of hoped you'd learn it on a real guy.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Whereas Angeline's antics made me want to pull out my hair sometimes, Trey found them endearing.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I had never thought I could love another person this much. I also never thought I’d live in such fear of losing another person. Was this how everyone in love felt? Did they all cling tightly to their beloved and wake up terrified in the middle of the night, afraid of being alone? Was that an inevitable way of life when you loved so deeply? Or was it just those of us who walked on a precipice who lived in such panic?”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Did Belikov bend the rules of time and space to get here so fast? He can do that, right?”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“My boyfriend was insanely sexy, vampire or not, and I couldn't keep my hands off him.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I'm guessing whatever 'ways' you have in mind aren't Jill-appropriate either."
"Put your books away and I'll show you.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Who was I to do this?
I was Adrian Ivashkov.
And I was about to kick some ass.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Even now, despite Angeline's watchfulness, she'd occasionally oscillate between random topics, like how shepherd's pie wasn't a pie at all and why it was pointless for her to take class in typing when technology would eventually develop robot companions to do it for us.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“I couldn’t help it,” I said, knowing how lame that sounded. It was as bad as Angeline’s “it’s not my fault” mantra.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Somehow, Sydney had an internal clock that told her when time was up. I think it was part of her inherent ability to keep track of a hundred things at once. Not me. In these moments, my thoughts were usually focused on getting her shirt off and whether I’d get past the bra this time. So far, I hadn’t.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Are you okay with what we ordered?” Angeline asked him. “You didn’t pipe up with any requests.”

Neil shook his head, face stoic. He kept his dark hair in a painfully short and efficient haircut. It was the kind of no-nonsense thing the Alchemists would’ve loved. “I can’t waste time quibbling over trivial things like pepperoni and mushrooms. If you’d gone to my school in Devonshire, you’d understand. For one of my sophomore classes, they left us alone on the moors to fend for ourselves and learn survival skills. Spend three days eating twigs and heather, and you’ll learn not to argue about any food coming your way.”

Angeline and Jill cooed as though that was the most rugged, manly thing they’d ever heard. Eddie wore an expression that reflected what I felt, puzzling over whether this guy was as serious as he seemed or just some genius with swoon-worthy lines.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“He's been out for a while," she said. "You ready to take a break?"
Hopper could exist in this living form or be transformed into a small statue, which helped avoid uncomfortable questions when people came by. Only she could transform him though.
"Yeah. He keeps trying to eat my paints. And I don't want him to watch me kiss you goodbye.”
― 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

“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

“Damn, you have no idea what I have been through today."

"Actually I have a pretty good idea.”
― 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

“Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?”
― Virginia Woolf

“Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.”
― Virginia Woolf

“If I were today on my deathbed, I would name my love of the color blue and making love with you as two of the sweetest sensations I knew on this earth.”
― Maggie Nelson, Bluets

“It calms me to think of blue as the color of death. I have long imagined death's approach as the swell of a wave - a towering wall of blue. You will drown, the world tells me, has always told me. You will descend into a blue underworld, blue with hungry ghosts, Krishna blue, the blue faces of the ones you loved. They all drowned, too. To take a breath of water: does the thought panic or excite you? If you are in love with red then you slit or shoot. If you are in love with blue you fill your pouch with stones good for sucking and head down to the river. Any river will do.”
― Maggie Nelson, Bluets

“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

“SAY IT. Go ahead, stand before the mirror, look at your mouth, and say it. Blue. See how you pucker up, your lips opening with the consonants into a kiss, and then that final exhalation of vowels? Blue. The word looks like what it is, a syllable blown out into the air, and with the sound and the sight of saying it as one.”
― William H. Gass, On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry (New York Review Books