Richelle Mead Quotes

I'm not a monster; I'm a white rabbit.

Everyone thinks I'm some big drug addict and loser because of the parts I play - quite the opposite. I decided to be a winner.

I am stronger than words and I am bigger than the box I'm in, and then I see her in the crowd and I fall apart.

By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.

I don't think of myself as an evil monster and I hope I'm not.

I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.

The world's most sensible person and the biggest idiot both stay within us. The worst part is, you can't even tell who is who.

Man's Unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his Greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, with which all his cunning he cannot quite bury under the Finite... Try him with half of a Universe, of an Omnipotence, he sets to quarreling with the proprietor of the other half, and declares himself the most maltreated of men. Always there is a black spot in our sunshine: It is even, as I said, the Shadow of Ourselves.

I mean I never feel I feel what I ought to feel.

When our conscience bothers us, whether we admit it or not, we often try to justify it by correcting others, or by finding fault with them. The readiness to believe evil about others is in large part ammunition for a thousand scandals in our own hearts.

It must be hard being you,” she said. “Mr. Perfect on the outside. Dr. Evil on the inside.” “It’s not that hard. The rest of the world isn’t as insightful as you.

Heaven help me for the way I am, save me from these evil deeds before I get them done.

I'm ridiculous to feel ridiculous when I'm not.

He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is, you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes.

You would love the way he sees you. He uses you as a weapon against himself and not merely because you did

It is our own evil thoughts which madden us.

And the light by which she had read the book filled with troubles, falsehoods, sorrow, and evil, flared up more brightly than ever before, lighted up for her all that had been in darkness, flickered, began to grow dim, and was quenched forever.

Each of us has something within us which won't be denied, even if it makes us scream aloud to die. We are what we are, that's all. Like the old Celtic legend of the bird with the thorn in its breast, singing its heart out and dying. Because it has to, its self-knowledge can't affect or change the outcome, can it? Everyone singing his own little song, convinced it's the most wonderful song the world has ever heard. Don't you see? We create our own thorns, and never stop to count the cost. All we can do is suffer the pain, and tell ourselves it was well worth it.

You never know what's right, what you feel inside versus what is portrayed.

When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer.

She stood in front of the mirror a long time, and finally decided she either looked like a sap or else she looked very beautiful. One or the other.

But which was the real me? Let me be perfectly honest: I was a man of many faces. (p.33)

I nod, because I do understand. I'm just not sure how to go about divorcing myself from the evil I've already accepted.

After all, conflict arises, does it not, through the desire to be something, to be other than what is.

The greatest slave is not he who is ruled by a despot, great though that evil be, but he who is in the thrall of his own moral ignorance, selfishness, and vice.