Farrell Grayson Quotes & Sayings

I want to be respected. I want to be powerful. And yes, I want to be special. I want to leave a mark on this world so no one forgets who I was. — Morgan Rhodes

That's how it is: everything women have been told about love has been wrong. They've been told all sorts of things, but all wrong. And their experiences, all imprecise. And yet, they trust the things they're told, not the experiences. [ ... ] And yet, it's easier for women. Life flows in them, a great river, in them, the perpetuators, nature is sure and mysterious, in them. — Italo Calvino

It's hard to market a movie when you're at the mercy of critics and journalists. — Harvey Weinstein

[He] thought he smiled the way people smile who have no friends, with gratitude. — Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I'm seventeen. This isn't puppy love any more. The boys are nearly men, when they bite they leave scars. — Tanya Byrne

- "Can you do me a couple of favors, Farrell?"
- "Depends on what they are."
- "Tell Markus if he's going to send spies after me, he should send smarter ones."
- Charming. "I'll think about it. And the second favor?"
Crys stood up, took a final sip from her glass of ice water, and then poured the rest onto his lap."Go to hell. — Morgan Rhodes

The kiss wasn't just any kiss. No, it was a tricky little bastard, because it started out soft and gentle, but shifted gears in a matter of seconds. The moment her response went from surprise to surrender, the kiss turned hard and hungry, launching us into a frenzy of movement. Her arms were around my neck, my hands were moving all over her body, and somehow, in a span of about five seconds, she climbed up me like a tree, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.
We spun and bumped into the counter. I reached behind my back with one hand to tighten the cross of her ankles. And then I had her sitting on the edge of the stovetop, my hands exploring the tops of her thighs. I pushed the ruffled skirt hem up and clasped on to her bare, silky skin. Her tongue dove to the back of my throat, sliding over mine like wet, slick velvet.
Holy mother fuck, I couldn't breathe. I was drowning in this girl. — Rachael Wade

On paper curiously shaped
Scribblers to-day of every sort,
In verses Valentines ycled'd
To Venus chime their annual court.
I too will swell the motley throng,
And greet the all auspicious day,
Whose privilege permits my song
My love this secret to convey. — Henry George Bohn