Against my mouth she groaned. "I hate being quiet." A breathless chuckled escaped me. "Me too. Once we're home..." "Lots of noise.

Her dark eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she stared up at me. "You are a moon child. She calls to you.

I buried my fingers in her thick, silky hair. Her teeth brushed my neck, her scent filling my lungs, and I tightened my grip, growling against her ear. "Dream come true.

You're playing dirty, " she whispered. "Did you want me any other way?

He ran his fingers along the edge of my jaw. “You’re my north star, Kilani. Being near you makes my heart, my soul, and my wolf whole for the first time in my life.

Her soft lips met mine over and over, scorching my soul as she gradually pulled back. "If I had known werewolves were such great kissers, I would've found one much sooner.

He rested his head on top of mine and whispered, "I'm warning you now. I'm a horrible patient." I smiled in spite of myself and pulled back. "Of course you are. That's why you're a doctor.

You can only build yourself effectively in the area of your calling

Loving someone who does not love you back is like, reaching for a star. You know you will never reach it but you just have to keep on trying. Because someday, who knows? It might fall.

The shelf where you can find the power to kick start is the shelf of self-confidence. No matter how loaded you are with the right information, you need to pull yourself out!

Wine is not a magic serum of truth. It just silences that smart little voice in your head which advises against saying some dumb shit.

All bad Literature rests upon imperfect insight, or upon imitation, which may be defined as seeing at second-hand.

The more I like me, the less I want to pretend to be other people.

People who laugh so heartily at what they themselves have said, when it is not funny, dispense us accordingly, by taking upon themselves the responsibility for the mirth, from joining in it.

There is no castle so strong that it cannot be overthrown by money.

The more you explain it, the more I don't understand it.

The weary sun hath made a golden set And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.