Sylvia Day Quotes

I would just go in my room and just scream out of anger because I didn't understand how a person could be so vicious and mean.

In the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.

Jack, get a grip of yourself.' I have a grip of myself.' Jack took a grip of himself. It was a most intimate grip; not the kind of grip that you usually take of yourself in public.

And presently I was driving through the drizzle of the dying day, with the windshield wipers in full action but unable to cope with my tears.

He holds my face in both hands and kisses me back. I press into the distance between us until it is gone, crushing the secrets we have kept and the suspicions we have harbored-for good, I hope.

I’ve been feeling something else. Like I’m about to be sucked into something powerful and painful.

She laughs and looks out the window and I think for a minute that she's going to start to cry. I'm standing by the door and I look over at the Elvis Costello poster, at his eyes, watching her, watching us, and I try to get her away from it, so I tell her to come over here, sit down, and she thinks I want to hug her or something and she comes over to me and puts her arms around my back and says something like 'I think we've all lost some sort of feeling.

I can’t think. I can’t work or sleep. My body aches for you. I can make you want me again. Let me try.

Soon it began to drizzle for the second time that night. The drops grew heavier and became visible in the headlights of the cars. It was said by some of the police on the scene that God was crying for the girl in the garden. To others, it was only rain.

The anxiety of falling in love could not find repose except in bed.

I hung my head, and I felt someone, Fang, gather me gently to him. My cheek rested on his shoulder, and my silent tears soaked his torn shirt.He felt warm and strong and heartbreakingly familiar. And at that moment, not a single thing in my life was certain, strong, or whole. Nothing. Least of all Fang.

I've come within range of hate. Terrifying, its tremors, its dizzying obsessions. Hate's like a swordfish invisible in the water, knifing suddenly into sight with blood on its blade- clear water misleads you.

She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation. In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?

Everything was screaming: the sea, the wind, my heart.

Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again.

There they lay, but not in the forgetfulness of the previous night. She was seeking and he was seeking, they raged and contorted their faces and bored their heads into each others bosom in the urgency of seeking something, and their embraces and their tossing limbs did not avail to make them forget, but only reminded them of what they sought

The act of love strongly resembles torture or surgery.

What I wanted to do was to fasten my index finger and thumb at the bolts of your collar bone, push out, spread the web of my hand until it caught against your throat. You asked me if I wanted to strangle you. No, I wanted to fit you, not just in the obvious ways but in so many indentations.

Do me wrong, do me right, tell me lies, but hold me tight.

I can definitely relate to Jacob's feelings in Breaking Dawn. When he gets the invitation to the wedding, he doesn't handle it very well. And I don't think I would either. If I were in love with a girl and she told me she was marrying somebody else, that would crush me. And that's what it does. It destroys Jacob.

He broke my heart, and now it's raining, just to rub it in.

And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.

I don't share my body heat indiscriminately.

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it's touch we're afraid of.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.