Olivia Quotes

“He was my tormentor and my solace; the creator of the dark and the light within.”
― CJ Roberts, Captive in the Dark

“Love is illogical. You fall into it like a manhole. Then you're just stuck. You die in love more than you live in love.”
― tarryn fisher, Dirty Red

“You're my hiding place. I go to you when I'm messed up.”
― Tarryn Fisher, Thief

“You couldn’t get rid of the past. You couldn’t ignore it, or bury it, or throw it over the balcony. You just had to learn to live beside it. It had to peacefully co exist with your present. If I could figure out how to do that, I could be okay.”
― Tarryn Fisher, Thief

“For once, I understood the Caleb mania. He was like a jalapeno, bright and smooth, but dangerously hot. A small part of me wanted to bit him.”
― Tarryn Fisher, The Opportunist

“Only five books tonight, Mommy," she says.
No, Olivia, just one."
How about four?"
Two."
Three."
Oh, all right, three. But that's it!”
― Ian Falconer, Olivia

“She stumbled back a step. “Carlos was the…?”
“Panther, aye.”
“He’s a cat?” And her boss was a dog. She shook her head. Was her next door neighbor a goldfish?”
― Kerrelyn Sparks, The Vampire and the Virgin

“Something’s different,” Carlos continued. “Tonight you came in with no scowling or growling. Why the
change?”
Robby shrugged one shoulder. “I’m trying to convince you I’m no’ crazy. If I kept doing the same thing when it
wasna working, would that no’ be crazy?”
“Good point.” Carlos rinsed the bowl and placed it in the dishwasher. “So you’re trying a new strategy tonight.”
Robby removed the bottled blood from the microwave and filled a glass. “Tonight I saw an angel.”
Carlos’s eyes widened. “And you’re still trying to convince me you’re not crazy?”
― Kerrelyn Sparks, The Vampire and the Virgin

“There's nothing wrong with you..not even the darkest corner of that beautiful soul. ~ Hunter”
― Vicki Pettersson, City of Souls

“Why don’t you two take a little walk?” Eleni suggested. “The moon is beautiful tonight.”
“That’s a great idea.” Robby stood, releasing Olivia’s hand. “Will ye walk with me, lass?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her sweater, pulled it over her head, then fixed the clip that held her hair in place on
the back of her head.
“No funny stuff,” Eleni warned. “I’ll be watching with the telescope.”
― Kerrelyn Sparks, The Vampire and the Virgin

“What's a drunken man like, fool?
Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.”
― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

“If Peter Pan had been real, he would've gone mad and killed everyone in Neverland.”
― Amanda Hocking, Wisdom

“I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe.
What is decreed must be; and be this so.”
― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

“Pleasure eased the edges of Tiern-Cope's face, and with his mouth curved in a smile he resembled his brother more than ever. But the eyes gave him away. They were cold, a lifeless, icy blue. He grasped the woman's hips, and this woman who had Olivia's copper hair and even her features, cried out in a low, guttural moan of pleasure incapable of containment. "I am coming," he said. He opened his eyes again, looking at her, and she wanted to weep from the heartbreak.

His hips came up, and he gasped and said, "My heart. My love. I'm coming."

She slid away, down and away, and into the safety of Sebastian's embrace. His arms enfolded her, warm and tight. Hurry, she thought.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“The tide will turn, Miss Willow." A smile lurked around his mouth, but no, that was not possible, that the earl of Tiern-Cope should smile, and at her.

"It hasn't yet."

"You may find the sea casts you onto the shores of paradise." His voice was low and soft, and Olivia felt her heart stir at the sound. "Or through the very gates of hell."

"So it might." She gave herself a mental shake. Lord Tiern-Cope could not possibly be flirting with her. Impossible. "But that won't stop me from embracing this moment in all its beautiful perfection."

"With but one flaw, Miss Willow."

"Whatever could that be?"

"Don't even try to tell me I don't spoil the present perfection of your moment." The corner of his lip twitched and then gave up. He smiled, and she, perverse creature that she was, felt like she'd been tossed off a cliff with him standing at the bottom to catch her.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“Their eyes met and locked. If Cumbria were to take the form of a man, here he stood. Half-tamed, and that half much in doubt, forbiddingly beautiful and dangerous to the unwary. A voice in the back of her head warned that she ought to keep her silence, but she plowed on.

"You belong here." Without thought, she stepped toward him and touched his cheek, following the line back to his temple. His skin felt warm, the heat of him filled her. Inside her, in her heart and in her soul, she knew him. She knew everything about him that mattered. All of him was inside her right now, complete and right and heartbreaking because he was lost. He turned his head and for a moment, she felt the warmth of his breath against her gloved palm.

"My poor, dear Captain Alexander. You are too young to feel such desolation. You think you've lost your heart, but you haven't. It's here at Pennhyll. It's in the ground and the air, the trees and the stone, everywhere you look. You have only to take it. Take what is yours.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“He made a small movement of his head. "Do you love Pennhyll as well as you do the mountain upon which it sits?"

"I find it much like you."

His mouth quirked, and then, curved in another smile. She stared, transfixed by the sight. "Unpleasant and forlorn?"

She tipped her head to one side, considering him. She felt an odd sensation of understanding this harsh man who was, in fact, a stranger to her. "Not entirely unpleasant, that I will admit. Nor forlorn, either."

"Do not tell me you find me amiable."

"Certainly not. Like Pennhyll, you are strong and fierce." She felt, ridiculous as it was, that she knew him better than she knew herself. "To make a life here is to have courage and heart, and those you surely have.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“What is this place?" Now that they'd stopped, his body registered violent objection to the abuse of a mile's walk down the mountain. Hell. To pay. Pandelion whined.

"Home," replied Miss Willow.

He held out his hand for the key.

She sighed. "You're a very managing sort."

"I am a man, Miss Willow."

"I dislike being managed."

"Alas," said Sebastian.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“Come here into the warmth," he said easily. He reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her toward him. "I've been waiting for you." He stroked her hair, shifting a bit to let the light fall on her. "For a very long time."

She, too, reached for him, following a line in the air along the length of the forming scar that marred his chest. A corona flared around him until she moved past the point where the sunlight hit her eyes. She stared at his chest, at the gashed and ill-healed flesh, and he, seeing her attention, took her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. She felt the warmth of his breath, the pressure of his lips, soft and warm. "I wish you had never been wounded," she said. "Even though it brought you home to me.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“It's easy to think you love someone when the person you really want isn't there for you, at least not physically”
― Morgan Parker, Non Friction

“She was halfway to deep sleep when the door creaked, a noise loud enough to rouse her, yet soft enough to doubt her having heard anything. She lay motionless, listening but hearing only the wind outside, the clock, the sounds of an ancient building. Normal sounds, but still her skin prickled. Pressure built in her head. Her pulse beat in her ears. The feeling of pressure thickened, stealing over her, a sense of envelopment, a shift in perception. Not her pulse, but footsteps. Someone pacing. Ten steps toward the fireplace. Ten back to the foot of her bed. The susurration of fabric against fabric. Metal sliding along metal, a low ringing sound, and mixed with that a murmuring. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. No moving shadows, no figure approaching her bed, just the inert shapes of furniture and the resulting shadows. The resonance in her head grew, half convincing her she heard footsteps and the low, regular sound of breathing. The murmuring began again, a breath, then a whisper.

My love.

Steps paced near, and she swore she could feel the air thicken. Pain lanced along her temple.

My heart.

Unendurable pressure. She tried to move, but couldn't. Her limbs were frozen, trapped in her nightmare. More footsteps. A breath on her cheek. Cold air wafted through the room.

My own.

A face flashed before her eyes. She tried to breathe and couldn't get air into her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut, but the face didn't go away. The features blurred, looming, threatening, laughing. She knew that face, but the recollection refused to come. Terror like she'd known only once before in her life consumed her. Her lungs refused to expand. Or couldn't. She was going to die. She knew it. A scream bubbled in her throat.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“The patterns overhead shifted so that, had she an imagination prone to hysteria, she could easily convince herself something hid in the curtains above her head. She imagined a face in the shadows and folds of fabric, a face with sad, hollow eyes. The sliver of light shining through a crack in the window curtains disappeared. Shadows deepened and swirled and the face became even more uncannily real.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“What do you want most in life, Miss Willow?"

"For my mother to be well."

"Imagine you had that." His fingers rested on the nape of her neck. "What do you want for yourself?"

"Peace on earth?"

"Come, Miss Willow. I want a serious answer from you. Better yet, a selfish one." Though she stood inches from him, she seemed not to notice their proximity. As a grown man, he could control his base urges. He'd done so for years. He would do better by her than his father and brothers. Slowly, he lifted his fingers from the back of her neck. His palm took their place.

Head tilted, she considered him. "You'll laugh."

"Try me."

"A family. Children."

"What? Not thousands of pounds at your disposal? A mansion? Jewels to dazzle you? Servants at your beck and call?"

She rested the side of her head against the doorway and looked at him from beneath her thick red lashes. "I always thought I'd be married one day with half a dozen children at my knees." Her eyes danced again, and for a moment, the space of a breath, he was caught like a fly in a web. "I was right about the children at least, though I was sure they'd be mine."

"Are you sorry?" What soft skin she had, such a tender nape.

"That I'm not a wife and mother?"

"Mm." He imagined her with a husband, with children. His children. He saw her gravid by his doing, and him cradling an infant in his arms, the one he'd made in her. He could give her what she wanted, and, of course, he could imagine the act of making her so.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“She ran and didn't slow until she came to a hallway that terminated in a multipaned window of thick, old-fashioned glass. Her breath rasped in her throat, but the dizziness and nausea eased enough that she stood steadier on her feet. She heard again the gentle ringing of metal sliding against metal. Musty air rose up with the same smell of leather and dust, an acrid undertone beneath. She whipped her head toward the end of the hall. At first she didn't see anything. The light shifted and swirled, and the swordsman materialized from the shadows. Gold and red emblazoned his tunic in a chevron against a cobalt background. The sword was back in its scabbard, strapped across his back. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, and he looked like Sebastian. Timed to the wind stirring the ivy outside, he vanished through the wall.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“His eyes darkened. "You're in pain, aren't you?" He touched her temple, and she leaned her head against his hand.

"Yes." The inside of her head felt stuffed full like an iron band slowly tightened around her brain.

"Still having bad dreams?"

"Nightmares." She put her palms flat to his chest and spoke to the buttons on his coat. "Always the same. A face looming over me. I can't breathe. I feel helpless. And frightened."

"Hush, my heart." His fingertips nudged her chin up so that she looked into his face. "Hush."

She leaned against him. "Why can't I remember?"

"It isn't time, yet." His hands landed on her shoulders.”
― Carolyn Jewel

“He's not here. The Black Earl."

"I know."

"So, for the moment, we are safe from that madness."

"I am always safe with you. No matter what happens, no matter what, I am safe with you and not with anyone else."

He inhaled. "How long have you been seeing the Black Earl?"

"A few days now." She bit her lower lip. "You?"

"Since I came to Pennhyll." He walked to the fireplace. She turned sideways on her chair, but all he did was stare at the fire, hands clasped and pressed against the small of his back. The fingers of one hand clenched and unclenched. He turned. "What of me? How long have I been in your head?"

"Before the Black Earl, I think. Only I didn't know they weren't just dreams."

"More and more intimate." His mouth thinned. "I confess to once or twice in my life imagining making love to a woman I admire. God knows you're a pretty woman, but I don't just imagine being with you. When I make love to you, you're not thoughts and images in my head, you're in my arms, real and warm. I can taste you and breathe in the scent of you, feel your skin against mine. We've never made love, but I've been inside you. Jesus, Olivia, you know I have."

She nodded.

"Hell, for all we know it's possible I've made a child in you." His eyes pinned her. "Did anything like that happen between you and Andrew?"

"No."

"You sound certain."

"I am."

"You never saw the Black Earl until I was at Pennhyll?"

"Never."

"Andrew never came to you in—as I have. As we have together?"

"No. I never thought of him that way."

"You do me, though."

She nodded.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“Olivia watched him through a blur of tears, despising the futility of it. For there was nothing she could say to comfort a man whose family was long dead; there was no balm to heal wounds that scored a man's soul; and there was no way to make a man believe in the ties that bind.”
― Laura Lee Guhrke, Conor's Way

“Air swirled over her shoulders leaving a wake of chilled skin. To her left something stirred in the shadows. She blinked. The swordsman stood by the fire, as clear and solid as day. Her heart thundered in her ears so loud he must surely hear. She started to sit up, then remembered her naked state. Water sloshed in the tub. "I beg your pardon."

He inclined his head. Steam from the water swirled, but Olivia saw his dark hair. He was tall and wore a tunic worked with red and gold. A leather strap crossed from right shoulder to left waist and held the scabbard fastened across his back. A jeweled belt circled his waist. His eyes matched the blue of the sky. The way he stood struck her as familiar. She closed her eyes. He was still there when she opened them again. "I am not mad," she said. "Is that you? Edith?"

Even with the distance between them and the mist swirling in the air, she saw his blue eyes, the arrogant set to his shoulders that came of years of wealth and breeding. His grin sent a flare of alarm up her spine. He took a step toward her, and for one dreadful moment, she was convinced he was as real as she was. He tipped his head and spread his arms wide, as if to prove himself harmless. "Go away." She wasn't afraid of him precisely. She was afraid of being mad. "Please, just go away."

He shook his head.

"I am not mad," she whispered.

He shook his head again. "I wish you were real.”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“Memories whirled in the back of her head. Not frightening this time. The owner of that voice made her smile. He protected her, and he loved her. When she was with him, the world felt right. As long as she was with him, she was safe.

He entered the room, crossing at an angle to her so that she saw just his shoulders and a glimpse of flat stomach. Not a stitch of clothing covered him. Not one. She could see the backs of his thighs and his bare behind. Round and strong and firm. Dark hair cut short gave his profile greater sternness. She knew beyond certainty she had every right to be here, with him perfectly naked. Her heart swelled with joy, a feeling so intense she wanted to cry out to the world.

He stopped at the window and stood there, one arm resting atop the sash, staring at the hills rising toward Scotland. His arm came forward on the sash, and he shifted so that he faced her. "Well," he said in a soft voice that made her breath catch. His voice was velvet, liquid velvet, and she was drowning in it, filled all the way to her soul. That voice, a woman could love. "Good afternoon."

Bluer eyes she'd never seen. Nor more piercing ones. She drowned in eyes of an incredible, piercing blue. The light shimmered as a cloud crossed the sun. But this man, this man with eyes like frost on a window, whose eyes made battle-hardened men quail and who seemed so foreign to tenderness, made her complete...”
― Carolyn Jewel, The Spare

“I walk into the water and it’s ten degrees cooler than the air,
absolutely freezing freezing cold, it makes my breath come all fast
and I can only take in little gulps of air. I feel the sting of the cut on
my leg as the salt gets in it. And I push further into it, so that the
water comes up to my chest, then my shoulders and now I really
can’t breathe properly, like I’m wearing a corset. I feel tiny fireworks
explode in my head and on the surface of my skin and all the bad
thoughts loosen, so I can look at them more easily.
I put my head under, shaking it to encourage the bad thoughts to
float away. A wave comes, and the water fills my mouth. It’s so salty
it makes me gag and when I gag I swallow more water and don’t
manage to breathe and more water goes in, and it’s in my nose too
and each time I open my mouth for air more water comes in instead,
great big salty gulps of it. I can feel the movement of the water under
my feet and it feels like it’s tugging me somewhere, trying to take me
with it. It’s like my body knows something I don’t because it’s fighting
for me, my arms and legs thrashing out. I wonder if this is a bit what
drowning is like. Then I wonder if I am drowning.”
― Lucy Foley, The Guest List