Anne Bishop

“Not fault of teaching spider if little spider pay more attention to catching fly than doing lesson.”

“The courtyard kept changing, dazzling her with the flowers that bloomed between one day and the next, with the bare branches of trees that were swollen with the buds of new leaves and then fuzzed with green. Every day, she drove a familiar road through a new place.”

“Perhaps not willingly, but pain can make a man do things he wouldn't willingly do.”

“Everything has a price.”

“Daemon clung to Surreal as she flew along the Winds, too weak to argue, too spent to care. His heart, however... His heart held on fiercely to Jaenelle's soft, sighing caress of his name.Everything has a price.”

“Enjoy your Evening.""That will depend on the menu. If it's beef, it will be a tolerable meal. If it's chicken..." Elliot shuddered. "What is the point of chicken?""Eggs?”

“In archetypes, there is the Nurturer and the Warrior. Different kinds of strengths that, ideally, complement each other and are equally respected.”

“She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

“It was Jaenelle's voice, but...She was medium height, slender, and fair-skinned. Her gold mane--not quite hair and not quite fur--was brushed up and back from her exotic face and didn't hide the delicately pointed ears. In the center of her forehead was a tiny, spiral horn. A narrow strip of gold fur traced her spine, ending in a small gold and white fawn tail that flicked over her bare buttocks. The legs were human and shapely, but changed below the calf. Instead of feet, she had dainty horse's hooves. Her human hands had sheathed claws like a cat's. As she shifted position to slip another shard into place, he saw the small, round breasts, the feminine curve of waist and hips, the dark-gold triangle of hair between her legs.Who...?But he knew. Even before she walked over and looked at him, even before he saw the feral intelligence in those ancient, haunted sapphire eyes, he knew. Terrifying and beautiful. Human and Other. Gentle and violent. Innocent and wise.*I am Witch,* she said, a small, defiant quiver in her voice.*I know.* His voice had a seductive throb in it, a hunger he couldn't control or mask.”

“People who entered the Courtyard without an invitation were just plain crazy! Wolves were big and scary and so fluffy, how could anyone resist hugging one just to feel all that fur?“Ignore the fluffy,” she muttered. “Remember the part about big and scary.”

“'The Others' books take place in an alternate Earth where the Earth natives have been the dominant predators throughout the world's history, and humans are nowhere near the top of the food chain. But humans are clever and resilient, if not always wise, and have made some bargains with the Others in order to survive.”

“Some men die for lack of love…some die because of it. Think about it." - Daemon”

“*I don't want the body,* she whimpered. *It hurts.**Not always, sweetheart. Not always. Without the body, how will you hear a bird's song? How will you feel a warm summer rain on your skin? How will you taste nutcakes? How will you walk on a beach at sunset and feel the sand and surf under your... hooves?*”

“A woman with an education may be able to spend more time sitting in a chair instead of lying on her back. A sound advantage, I should think.”

“He gently kissed that scar and felt something changing inside him - just a flutter of change, there and gone, but leaving its mark.”

“We are what we are. Nothing more, nothing less. There is good and evil among every kind of people. It's the evil among us who rule now.”

“Lucivar winced. "She guzzled half the flask — and it wasn't one of his home brews, it was the concoction you created."Jaenelle’s eyes widened. “You let her drink a ‘gravedigger’?”“No no no,” Wilhelmina said, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t ever drink a gravedigger until he’s had a bath.” She smiled placidly when Jaenelle and Lucivar just stared at her.“Mother Night,” Lucivar muttered.“Do you know that song?” Wilhelmina asked Jaenelle.”

“Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood.”

“The sweatshirt was big on her and she looked ridiculous. He liked it. And he liked that she was wearing something that carried his scent.”

“The Dimwit's Guide to the Female Mind might assist your efforts in understanding human females. But it must be pointed out that this subject can be a dangerous adventure and should be undertaken with extreme caution. After all, human males have been trying to understand their females for generations, and most of the time they come away from these encounters looking like someone stuck their tails into an electric socket.”