Hard Ink Quotes & Sayings

Her last stop in the produce section was as the asparagus, which she planned to marinate and grill. She felt eyes on her, and did a double take at Derek holding possibly the world's largest zucchini in his hands with a totally amused grin on his face. He waggled his brows.
Emilie couldn't help but give in to the urge to laugh. "Okay," she said. "I'm all done here."
"Oh, good," Derek said. "Let's go see what fun we can have with the meat. — Laura Kaye

How hard it is to make your thoughts look anything but imbecile fools when you paint them with ink on paper. — Olive Schreiner

Wearing only his boxers, Marz sat on the edge of the bed and removed his limb. And then he shifted under the covers with her. "Now," he said, "Does hiding under the covers involve covering the head, too?" Or just the body?
Such a sweet, cute mane. "Just the body. Covering the head makes it a fort."
His eyes went wide. "Is that so? Duly noted. — Laura Kaye

I turned back to my work and lifted the lid of the last crate.

I sat down. Hard. And stared.

It was filled with paper. Ink. Blank journals.

In one wonderful, horrible moment I knew that I was lost. Keir, Warlord, had taken me, claimed me, made me his warprize. But somewhere, somehow, he had managed to find a way into my heart as well.

How had this happened? I'd given myself to a barbarian, a ravaging, crazed warlord, expecting little more than abuse and dishonor at his hands. But this man had offered nothing but kindness and respect to me, his property. I knew this gift was by his hand, I'd not spoken to Sal about paper or ink, and she'd not understand its importance.

Could he care so much that he paid attention to this tiny detail?

Did he want me to be happy? — Elizabeth Vaughan

Last bedroom on the right," Nick said with a smirk. "Might want to knock first."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Dude, you are so not one to talk right now."
Straight-faced, Nick popped Jeremy in the arm with a fist.
"Dude," Jeremy said, rubbing his arm. "Maybe you aren't doing it right 'cause sex is supposed to chill your ass out."
Easy managed a smile. "I really like your brother, Rix," Easy said, looking at Nick. — Laura Kaye

You know, it's hard work to write a book. I can't tell you how many times I really get going on an idea, then my quill breaks. Or I spill ink all over my writing tunic. — Ellen DeGeneres

God, it was quite possible that Derek was the strongest man she'd ever known. Her gaze ran over the T-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles of his shoulders and arms, then downward to how those blue jeans hung on his lean hips. He was definitely the sexiest man she'd ever known.
And she wanted him. — Laura Kaye

Nick gave a sharp nod. "Fair point". Rising, he stepped toward the desk and stole a chip off Marz's plate.
"Dude," Marz said, holding out his hands, "get your own crunchy goodness. — Laura Kaye

Shane elbowed Beckett as they started to cross toward the door. "It's not a prosthetic limb, it's a hollow leg."
"You know," Marz said, "that would actually be freaking cool. It could be refrigerated, and you could keep drinks and snacks in it."
Beckett just started at him.
"When I'm a kabillionaire, off my refrigerated prosthetic hollow leg, son't ask to borrow a drink. That's all I'm saying. — Laura Kaye

Easy squeezed her hand and tugged her closer. She sucked in a breath, sure he was going to kiss her. He did. Just not how she'd thought. His lips pressed to her forehead, then he pulled back to look her in the eye. I see a woman who's made me fell more alive in the past few days than I have in a long, long time. — Laura Kaye

The man from lunch - Derek - stood leaning against the column by the steps. The way his arms crossed his chest made his biceps and shoulders appear huge, which made her notice that he'd changed clothes since lunch. The minute his playful gaze landed on her, he pushed off the column.
"Hi," he said, looking sheepish and way sexier than any man had the right to look. From the way his blue jeans hung on his lean hips to the way his navy button-down hugged the muscles of his shoulders and chest to how tall he was, this guy was sex on legs. — Laura Kaye

He reasoned, even as a young man, that traditions may linger as he walked though the oracles of time. In later years he thought his mind may one day blur, should he survive to an old age, but as he spread ink on paper, transmitted and shared with those who came after him his experiences, his own grHe reasoned, even as a young man, that traditions may linger as he walked though the oracles of time. In later years he thought his mind may one day blur, should he survive to an old age, but as he spread ink on paper, transmitted and shared with those who came after him his experiences, his own great adventures, he believed perhaps they, like he, would give way to pause to reflect on how...hard it always was to open his eyes to begin a new day. eat adventures, he believed perhaps they, like he, would give way to pause to reflect on how goddamned hard it always was to open his eyes to begin a new day. — Andrew Coster

Within fifteen minutes, Emilie had guided them to an upscale store known for its fresh meats and produce. She felt a little ridiculous as she walked into the store, a team of muscled badasses following her. — Laura Kaye

Ninth Floor

she ran across the parquet slipped the flokati mat
crashed the window

no

she stood at the window prism looked up at sky bruise night
spread her

no

she tilted dived swanning spinning
tip-toed ink air broke fingers first

no

she climbed the small gap the window gave
hung her finger joints clotted the view with frightened breath
fell ligament torn and sorry

no

she wandered to the glass hatch to watch tranquilised lights sputtering
leaned too hard fell faster than a bottle of Jack

no

this is how it was:

drunk screaming she crashed the parquet with grief
roared the ungiving window frames which gave

she spangled spaghetti-like ribbon-voiced
street lights crashed on her

no.

She did nothing. — Karin Schimke

I use the old Strathmore vellum surface paper, which is the best paper you can get in the Western world for ink line drawing. It has a good, hard surface. — Robert Crumb

He hadn't really rejected her, had he?
Or maybe she was reading into her memory of the moment what she wanted to see.
Probably.
Then again, he'd been hard. And he;s looked at her like he wanted to eat her. And she was totally game to be his buffet. — Laura Kaye

We go hard in the ink! — K'wan

If logic and reason, the hard, cold products of the mind, can be relied upon to deliver justice or produce the truth, how is it that these brain-heavy judges rarely agree? Five-to-four decisions are the rule, not the exception. Nearly half of the court must be unjust and wrong nearly half of the time. Each decision, whether the majority or minority, exudes logic and reason like the obfuscating ink from a jellyfish, and in language as opaque. The minority could have as easily become the decision of the court. At once we realize that logic, no matter how pretty and neat, that reason, no matter how seemingly profound and deep, does not necessarily produce truth, much less justice. Logic and reason often become but tools used by those in power to deliver their load of injustice to the people. And ultimate truth, if, indeed, it exists, is rarely recognizable in the endless rows of long words that crowd page after page of most judicial regurgitations. — Gerry Spence

Hard to remember these days that there was a time you had to wait for the ink and paper reviews to see your work excoriated. With the invention of the internet, any subliterate cretin can be Michiko Kakutani. — Robert Galbraith

Rumor had it TC was black though it was hard to see any trace of skin through the work of his tattoo artist. The obscure ink images blanketed almost all available somatic sites. Body piercing too appeared to be more of a lifestyle with TC than a hobby. The man looked like a nightmare version of Mr. Clean. Myron — Harlan Coben

The only upside to that ice-cold bath was that Ike has gotten wet and tossed his shirt, and Jess thought she might be willing to be sick more often if it meant getting to see him shirtless. Because, holy bad-ass tattooed biker on a stick, he was so freaking hot. Cut muscles, ink everywhere, two insanely delicious indents low on his waist. And scars Jess has no idea how Ike had gotten.
All that goodness and Jess couldn't even see the big Ravens tat that she knew covered Ike's broad back. But she'd seen it before, back at Hard Ink when Jeremy occasionally did a new piece for Ike. She'd seen it enough to know that she'd love to have a good reason to dig her fingers into that tat ... — Laura Kaye

Son of a good goddamn holy motherfuck. — Laura Kaye

Hailey winked, then came over to Callie. "Sit down and tell me what you need."

"A man?" she blurted, then shut her eyes. Damn. Totally not what she meant to say.

Hailey threw her head back and laughed. "It's about time you said that, although I don't know if you need a man so much as to get laid."

The other customer at the counter sputtered his coffee and Callie laughed, turning to him. "She meant that I don't need a man in my life, just an orgasm. I'm not a lesbian. Well, I made out with a couple girls when I was, like, nineteen, but that was just experimenting. It's good to make sure you're sure about what you want, you know?"

The man blushed hard, put money on the counter, and scurried away. — Carrie Ann Ryan

When we are together, it's just us. No one else."

She swallowed hard, but relaxed at his words. "That's good because I don't share. — Carrie Ann Ryan

Two solid weeks of beautiful weather. Clear sunny days, low humidity, temperature in the seventies, air so brisk and clean you could read E PLURIBUS UNUM on a dime across the street. Clear cloudless nights, temperature in the fifties, the sky a great soft raven's breast, an immense bowl of octopus ink salted with a million hard white crystalline stars and garnished with a huge moon pulsing with white light. It was disgusting. — Donald E. Westlake

I would describe my style for those who haven't listened to my music as definitely..up-tempo.
I try to have something nice, something people could dance to. It's kind of hard though to describe my sound in one record because I think when I approach music I try to do something different every day. Do a different vibe. — Kid Ink

I love you," she whispered against his chest.
He hugged her tighter, and then drew in a deep breath. "And Iiiiiiiiiii-ee-iiii will always love yoooooooou," he sang, or rather butchered, the old Whitney Houston song.
Impossibly, Emilie burst out laughing. "Oh, God, that's horrible Derek." She pushed out of his arms, grasped one of the pillows from the edge of the bed, and planted it over his head. He continued to warble from under the cotton, and Emilie couldn't stop laughing.
Their playfulness quickly escalated into a pillow fight, and then a wrestling match, and of course she ended up underneath him.
Win-win in her book. — Laura Kaye

NO way was she crying in front of Ike. He already treated her like an overprotective big brother as it was. And that was really freaking annoying because it meant her fantasy of climbing him like a tree and having her wily way with him weren't ever coming true. Unrequited lust sucked big hairy donkey balls. — Laura Kaye

Throwing cash for the whole meal on the table, Kelly got up abruptly. That's it. Come on. We're going shopping. Clothes. Lingerie. Shoes. Condoms. — Laura Kaye

He sat her on the edge of the bed then stood in front of her. When he stripped off his shirt, her jaw dropped.

Dear. God.

Ropes of corded muscles, hard lines of strength, sex, and everything in between covered his body. He had some chest hair, enough to enhance the beauty of his ink, but not too much.

And, sweet baby Jesus, his ink. — Carrie Ann Ryan

As Shane threaded between the cars and crossed the lot, all Crystal could do was stare. At the determination in his sexy, powerful stride. At the way those jeans hung on his lean hips and came down around a pair of losely tied brown boots. At the way the breadth of his shoulders pulled the slate blue button-down tight across his chest. Hands in his pockets, he gave her a crooked smile that made her belly flutter and her cheeks heat.
"Hey darlin'," he said as he stepped up on the sidewalk.
"Hi," she said. — Laura Kaye

Outside, the guys took care of loading the groceries into the back of Shane's pickup. Emilie watched as four very attractive men stretched over the lowered tailgate to place the bags in the truck bed. A girl could get used to this. — Laura Kaye

Tattoos, for example, are very hard to forget. I think there's something about the impermanence of life these days that makes it necessary to etch ink into our skins. It reminds us that we've been marked by the world, that we're still alive. That we'll never forget. — Tahereh Mafi

Toast is boring. Doritos are life. — Laura Kaye

When it's time for you to write how you want your life to go just write right before your pen run out of ink because i know the opportunity is jusT once and if u miss it, then you hustle very hard to get it — Efiba Progress

One of those adversaries was Kevin Maxwell, the privileged son of a hard-charging UK media mogul. Anyone who had taken on Maxwell and his well-connected father, Robert, found that the Maxwell family frequently proved the old adage about starting a war of words with someone who buys ink by the barrel. — Dan Ackerman

I'm going out with him again tomorrow night," Emilie said after they'd finished eating. "He lives up in Baltimore, so we're going to meet after I'm done at the clinic."
"What are your wearing?" Kelly asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
"Just ... " She shrugged and looked down at the white cardigan she wore over a pair of basic black slacks. "Work clothes".
Kelly's eyes went wide. "Oh, no. No, no. Hottie McHotterson deserves more than work clothes. Hottie deserves a little black dress or a pair of fuck-hot jeans and a slinky little top. And heel - sexy, tall heels." She arched an eyebrow. — Laura Kaye

... After all, each story is a Rorschach Test, isn't it? And if people find beasties and bedbugs in my ink-splotches, I cannot prevent it, can I? They will insist on seeing them, anyway, and that is their privilege. Still, I wish people, quasi-intellectuals, did not try so hard to find the man under the old maid's bed. More often than not, as we know, he simply isn't there. — Ray Bradbury

We're growing boys," Jeremy said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
"You're all garbage disposals, I swear," she said, chuckling and patting his stomach. Though, really, you couldn't have this many guys living under one roof and not go through the chow. "You're one of the worst and yet you're so lean. It's really not fair."
Hugging her in against his side, Jeremy winked. "It takes a lot of calories to be this awesome, Becca."
Nick gave Jeremy a playful shove as everyone chuckled. 'Or to be such a big pain in the ass. — Laura Kaye

She kissed him softly, her eyes closed as her body finally relaxed. "I love you," she whispered. "I'm an idiot."

"Well, yes, but you're adorable when you're an idiot."

She punched him in the shoulder. Hard. "Patronizing much? — Carrie Ann Ryan

He had written in cheap ballpoint ink that had blotted the five pages in many places. His handwriting was a looping but legible scrawl, and ha must have been bearing down hard, because the words were actually engraved into the cheap notebook pages; if I'd closed my eyes and run my fingertips over the backs of those torn-out sheets, it would have been like reading Braille — Stephen King

God, I can't get rid of you." Exasperation had her throwing up her arms.
"I specialize in pain in the ass, darlin'." He smiled, forcing himself to gear down the intensity.
"Well, congratulations, because you clearly graduated with honors. — Laura Kaye

What makes it worth it though, is I love drawing. I LOVE IT. I love making comics. I love starting a new page and buying new paper, ink and brushes. I love telling stories! I love the people I work with, I love the people I meet. I love thinking about the syntax and language of comics. I love esoteric discussions about the comic book industry. I love the opportunities I've had in life because of comics. The second I stop loving it I will find something else to do.
Comics are hard work. Comics are relentless. Comics will break your heart. Comics are monetarily unsatisfying. Comics don't offer much in terms of fortune and glory, but comics will give you complete freedom to tell the stories you want to tell, in ways unlike any other medium. Comics will pick you up after it knocks you down. Comics will dust you off and tell you it loves you. And you will look into it's eyes and know it's true, that you love comics back. — Becky Cloonan

-believed in carnal love. To us, a book's words were holy, but the paper, cloth, cardboard, glue, thread, and ink that contained them were a mere vessel, and it was no sacrilege to treat them as wantonly as desire and pragmatism dictated. Hard use was a sign not of disrespect but of intimacy. — Anne Fadiman

He let out a breath. "How old are you?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"Twenty-five." She gave him a wry smile. "And since you yelled it at Heather, I know you're 'forty fucking years old'."

He would have laughed, but he couldn't breathe. Jesus, he'd known she was young, but hearing her actual age..."That's fifteen years."

"I can do the math, but you know what else? I'm legal. I can drink. I have decent car insurance since I hit the quarter century mark, and I own this house." she paused. "Well the bank owns most of it, but I qualified for a loan and everything since I have decent credit." Her nose wrinkled. "I'm getting off subject. If the age difference truly bothers you, then I will see you at the shop to finish your tattoo. No hard feelings."

He growled softly. Well, something was hard, and it wasn't his feelings. — Carrie Ann Ryan

He dropped his arms on the bed and peered over at Jenna.
She lay on her side facing him, hand tucked under her chin, not looking the least bit settled or relaxed.
"Whatchu need?"
"You." She spoke the word without and hesitation, any doubt, any seeming self-consciousness. — Laura Kaye