Nenia Campbell Quotes - Page 2

In her view, there were threeoptions for a woman. If you were beautiful, you got married. If youwere ugly, you became a nun. If you were beautiful and stupid, orugly and dishonorable, you became a whore.

She said my glasses made me look like a butch jock's locker room bitch.

Life's a party. So smile and eat shit and pretend it's fucking caviar.

You must be a blast on long car rides.”“Oh, I am. You haven't experienced fun until you try to fuck in the front seat of a Civic.

Why do women always feel they have to settle for less?

What happened out there?”“I almost got quarking toasted by a dragon.”“A dragon,” he repeats, scandalized. “Are you mad? Or have you been skulking around the bars of Barbary XIII?

For what is magic, but passion freed from reason?

A quick and brutal fuck from behind usually served as an effective reminder of where you stood in the pack hierarchy.

What is your collective GPA for this year?”“Not as high as I'd like it to be.”Freud steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “What about your parents?”“I don't know. They haven't been in school for a while.

be my sonata, my cantata, my lovesing me something sweetbut not too sweet(or i may grow deaf to our harmonyas we decrescendo into silence)

It takes many sheep to satisfy one wolf.

If I catch you, I might do anything. I might strip the skin from your bones as I drain you dry. Or I might drag you into my chambers and have you pleasure me in ways you cannot even imagine. I might even take mercy on you, and that would be the cruelest injustice of all, because for you, it would only be a temporary reprieve.

Death is one lover who cannot be spurned.

We hunger in earnest for that which we cannot consume.

Don't tell me it's going to fucking be okay! I am not okay with being that fucker's pinata!

So you thought you could shit and eat at the same time. How disgustingly convenient.

Words were the bane of her existence. She drowned in them when all she wanted was silence, only to have them recede when one desperately-sought phrase would be the key to her salvation. Most things were like that: excess in times of abundance, and shortages in times of dearth. Life, she realized, was an unbalanced scale, and would never weigh in one's favor, struggle as one might.

I can't believe it. He is sporting a bona fide erection in the middle of class. All because of me.In history you learn about entire kingdoms crumbling into chaos because of a woman—or, in some cases, multiple women. I smile at Professor Delacroix, putting an extra bit of swing into my hips as I sashay out the door. I'm beginning to see just how easy it is to bring a man to his knees with a few flashes of bare skin, and the whispered promise of hot, sweaty sex.

I'm more than a few neurons shy of a synapse right now, and it feels absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

Such a dark green, his eyes. They reminded her of the forest, of all the dangers lying dormant behind that verdant cloak of leaves.

Men who thought of themselves as gods fell the farthest, and the hardest.

If the whole world seems like it's against you, it helps to know that you've still got home. A safe place. It just takes one person—a teacher, a friend, a parent. If I didn't have you and Dad, if you hadn't made it so clear you loved me as much as you did, or if you'd said, 'yeah, why don't you do it, and put yourself out of our misery, just shut up,' I would have killed myself. I really would have. I spent most of those days wishing I were dead anyway, and what always stopped me was the fact that doing so would destroy the lives of the only people who ever cared about me.

Maybe in a way all living things are like flickering flames in a precarious night, always on the verge of being extinguished. Whether we kindle slowly but steadily, or go out in a brilliant burst of light and color, is our choice. Perhaps the most important choice we'll ever have.

I want to be your last thought at night, and your first taste at dawn.

Psychological imprisonment was no less uncomfortable than its physical counterpart. In some ways, it was even worse; it provided the illusion of physical freedom, but garnered none of the benefits of it.

We spend much of our lives going about completely blind to reality, and yet we still have the gall to act victimized when it invariably catches up to us.

A story unwritten is without beginning or end. But in its potential lies another story; and in the heartbeat before pen meets page, both stories exist at once, reflecting endless permutations of the other, before one of them disappears forever.

Knives and candlelight,” he said, “how romantic.

Keep calm. You have the forest in your blood.

We feel most alive when we are closest to death.

At first you might wonder what you did to deserve such treatment. Nothing, probably, so that doesn't matter. What matters is that, eventually, the abuse becomes the status quo. It's no longer about the whats and whys (“what did I do?” “why are they doing this?”) but the whens and hows (“when are they going to do it?” “how are they going to get me?”). Persecution becomes inevitable, inescapable. And once you get into the victim mindset, you're fucked. The bullies don't even need to hurt you now; your poor, warped, pathetic brain is doing half the work for them.

Since when did psychiatry become one big, fat Myspace survey?

Maybe it frightened them, to admit that a woman could be master of her fate.

I can take care of myself,” I said hotly.“Darlin, you don't even know how to pleasure yourself.

You are fifty different kinds of twisted.""Only fifty? Val, you wound me.

What was it about us, as humans, that drove us to make apologies for beautiful things?

But fairytales were, at best, dirty mirrors whose warped and pitted surfaces reflected a highly distorted view of the truth, quite different from reality.

I'm pretty sure those're my balls you've found,” I said to the man searching my pants. “You gonna count 'em out now? Because I'll save you the trouble. There's two.

You don't find the concept of illicit love at all engaging?”“The concept, maybe. But in literature? That's like ordering a glass of tap water at a bar.

Ask yourself what a man without guile might do to your body in the dark.

She seemed like the kind of woman who would fall in love with the sky.

That's not cruel. This is. You come here in the middle of the night, expecting me to be awake, and ask—no, demand—me to give you things that belong to me as much as they belong to you. Never mind what it does to me. Never mind that each time I see you, I wonder if I'll ever hold you in my arms again, or be able to touch you without you cringing away like I'm a monster. I think it's fair to ask if there's an 'us,' my dear, because I suspect you're trying to use me just now. Tell me that's not cruel, and I'll let you go.

She started life with a number, not a name. Class: S, No. 13295. She has them memorized by rote, though nobody ever calls her that. The Scientists feel foolish addressing her in long, bewildering strings of alphanumerics. They have told her so themselves. To save time, they simply call her “Snow.

Death was not the scariest thing out there; no, the denial of it could be far worse.

Nobody wants to believe that existence carries on without at least taking a stumble from their departure of this world.

Hatred is about possession. It is all-consuming, cruel, and vainglorious. When love is allowed to fester, it becomes twisted and corrupt; it settles deep in the heart...and metastasizes, sending its dark roots through the body to raze all that stands in its way. Love is chaste and pure. Love is banal....No, hatred has infinitely more possibilities.

People rarely ventured outside the realm of their own hurts. They believed their own suffering was obvious to all, but might as well have been wearing blinders for all that they noticed anyone else's.

One doesn't need to be taught fear when one is the hunted.

Once a flower is picked it immediately begins to die.

Too bad. Game over. Insert new fucking quarter.

Without ethics, science would be cruelty.

Some people are born to fandom, others have fandom thrust upon them.

If a woman defined herself solely by the man she was with—and vice versa—the world would be a very shallow and insipid place, indeed.

If one has never known freedom, it is easy to be blind to the gridirons composing one's cell.

I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want. But I'm also not going to take a vow of chastity and pine away for you, or whatever the hell it is that men do in romance novels these days. I have needs. I'd rather satisfy them with you, but if you don't want me I suppose I'll just have to find someone else. Might take me a while, but I'll make do. I always have before.

Nobody should have to choose between a cold heart and a dead heart.

Maybe that was the root of my dislike for her: she had what I wanted, which earned her my jealousy, and since I was ashamed of myself for wanting it, my scorn, as well.

Books make the best ersatz friendships.

He was a phoenix of blood, rising from the ashes of those who had fallen and suffered before him.

A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport.