Richelle Mead Quotes

The enemy is within, and within stays within, and we can't get out of within.

The passions we cannot control are the ones that define us.

There's such a fierce intense fire burning inside of me, so much that it just wants to explode.

Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?

This is not the person I wanted to become: Hatred has carved a permanent place inside me, a hollow where things are so easily lost.

He said that hate makes the world go round People are afraid of what they really want They make enemies of all the things that they would like to be They condition themselves to not embrace what they are Love is a clinging nausea I tried to disagree with him It was no use I never saw a more honest look in anyone's eyes.

Decision making can sometimes seem like inner civil war.

Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

An increase of tenderness always ended by boiling over and turning to indignation. He was at the point where we seek to adopt a course, and to accept what tears us apart.

Many of us suffer from temptations from which we have no business to suffer.

The ordinary man puts up a struggle against all that is not himself, whereas it is against himself, in a limited but all-essential field, that the artist has to battle.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.

People see me on TV and I'm this calm, level headed guy. Honestly, that's the furthest thing from who I am. For a long time I struggled with anger and stress. It was killing me, figuratively and literally.

Faust complained about having two souls in his breast, but I harbor a whole crowd of them and they quarrel. It is like being in a republic.

I was guilty and irritated and full of love and pain. I wanted to kick him and I wanted to take him in my arms.

For all his pain, he longed to see the author of it. Although he hated Margaret at times, when he thought of that gentle familiar attitude and all the attendant circumstances, he had a restless desire to renew her picture in his mind - a longing for the very atmosphere she breathed. He was in the Charybdis of passion, and must perforce circle and circle ever nearer round the fatal centre.

Clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most

She nourishes the poison in her veins and is consumed by a secret fire.

I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.

And yet, something tied them together, strong than any of that, something with the power to conduct her blood and breath like a symphony, so that anything she did to fight against it felt like discord, like disharmony with her self.

There is nothing fiercer than a failed artist. The energy remains, but, having no outlet, it implodes in a great black fart of rage which smokes up all the inner windows of the soul. Horrible as successful artists often are, there is nothing crueler or more vain than a failed artist.

Heaven and hell are not very distant, they are neighbors; only a small fence divides them. You can jump that fence, even without a gate. You go on jumping from this to that. In the morning you may be in heaven; by evening you are in hell. This moment heaven, that moment hell. It is just an attitude, just a state of your mind, just how you are feeling. Many times, in a single life, you may visit hell, and many times you may visit heaven. In a single day also.

There came a time in every prolonged effort when he had a moment of near panic, or 'terror in a lonely place', the original semantic content of the word. The lonely place was his own mind.

I swim in a pool of my own neurosis. I carry love, grief deeply, like an Irishman.

I can't shove the dark out of my way.