Beads Quote by Gena Showalter

“No.” He wouldn’t lie about that. Not to her. And not because she’d rip him to pieces when she discovered the truth. “I can’t give you forever.” The nibbling increased in intensity, leaving a bead of blood in the center of her mouth. “Because we’re not a good match?” Of course she would remember every insult he’d ever thrown at her. “Yes.” “Then what can you give me?” “Here. Now.” Something his body craved more with every second that passed.”

Gena Showalter

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 2.7 out of 5 (8 ratings)

Beads Blood Body Every second Forever Giving Insult Intensity Leaving Lying Mouths Nibbling Pieces Remember Rip Thrown Truth

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You are such a chick.” I widened my eyes in mock surprise. “No way. Are you sure?

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Girl, he wants to dip you in Frosted Flakes and have you for breakfast. That's his favorite cereal, by the way." I...had no words…

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I'm not sure why we want each other," she grumbled. "Nor am I, but the fact remains that we do want each other." "Maybe I'm just shallow. You're quite pretty." "For now, that will do." Infuriating man. Couldn't take an insult the way she intended. -Annabelle and Zacharel

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“Are you gonna kill me?" the kid asked. Kid definitely didn't know who he was. There would be fawning. Wait. He looked that scary? Grinning, Evie said, "Nah. You've got nothing to worry about, squirt. Mr. Brothario is a lover, not a fighter." Blue glared at her. Drew flipped him off before rushing inside his house, probably to hide. "Aw,…

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She stood, squared her shoulders. “We’ll do it. Together.” And then she did something that shocked them both. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a swift kiss on his lips. “Thank you for returning to help me.” When she tried to move away, he latched onto her forearms and held her in place. His eyes were gleaming. "Next time…

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To you I belong.My heart beats only for you.No other will tempt me,from this day and beyond.To you I belong.

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I’m not trying to—What do teenagers say nowadays?” he asked my grandmother.“Get all up in her biznez,” Nana said.Without cracking a smile.“That’s right,” he…

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“For a moment, Strider almost forgot how pissed he was with Amun and Haidee as he savored the fact that he'd just cock-blocked the…

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If all we've got to look forward to is disloyalty and treachery, why do we even make friends?" "Again, human nature. Hoping for the…

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“He grunted, then he howled. I guess vinaigrette burns. Ha! I controlled the urge to grin. I leaped atop the dark, glossy table surface—and almost toppled to the floor when my foot caught the hem of my skirt. My amusement faded as I righted myself. I pitched three more platters at him in quick succession. As he rubbed his eyes,…

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That means life itself is a fairy tale. Like the characters, we all live and love and search for a happily-ever-after.

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The translucence that comes when life hardens into a bead of such cruel perfection you see it with the purest clarity. Everything suddenly there--life…

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slowly the pale dew-beads of light lapped up from flowers can thicken, darken to gold: honey of the human.

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You think you know yourself, the world. You believe you've got a bead on everybody else's bullshit, but what about your own?

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I think all writers are always collecting characters as we go along. Not just characters of course, we're collecting EVERYTHING. Bits and pieces of story. An interesting dynamic between people. A theme. A great character back story. A cool occupation. The look of someone's eyes. A burning ambition. Hundreds of thousands of bits of flotsam and jetsam that we stick…

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Deciding to chant the mantra a certain number of times daily will help foster the japa habit. We should always keep a rosary with…

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Then, when people saw you strolling around at high noon holding your rosary beads, they’d think, ‘Well, that can’t be a vampire.

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We must always remember that God is Love. "A fool indeed is he who, living on the banks of the Ganga, seeks to dig a little well for water. A fool indeed is the man who, living near a mine of diamonds, spends his life in searching for beads of glass." God is that mine of diamonds. We are fools…

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Every time some new huckster of angst-ridden metaphor is appointed by Art Forum, the congregation genuflects, stroking the catalog like a handful of Rosary…

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SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all…

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Reading a text is more like tracing this process of constant flickering than it is like counting the beads on a necklace.

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Loyalty to God is alone fundamental. Feelings, words, deeds, must be beads strung on the string of duty. Let the world tell you in a hundred ways what your life is for. Say you ever and only, "Lo, I come to do Thy will, O my God." Out of that dutiful root grows the beautiful life, the life radically and…

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