Nenia Campbell Quotes

Once upon a time, there was a naïve and innocent girl who thought she could tame the beast and live happily ever after. But the beast did not want to be tamed, for he was a beast and beasts care not for such things, and the girl died along with her dreams.From childhood's grave sprang a young woman, jaded before her years, who knew that beasts could wear the skins of men, and that evil could exist in sunlight, as well as darkness.Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

There's a saying that you can't put a price on a human life, but that saying is a lie because we have. We have, and it's so much lower than you would think. Yes, human life has its price like anything else, and will continue to do so for as long as it doubles as a commodity.

You mean you don't want to come in and hold my hand while I piss?

There was something delightfully intimate about the relationship between predator and prey.

Come closer, my dears, let me give you a warning,Of the fate that befalls those who stay out past morning,In the darkest hours before the dawn,When witches roam and demons spawn,And children die with spirit gone,Magicked away in the gloaming.

Humanity is a cage, and our puritanical sensibilities comprise the bars. We are confined by our own reason and intellect, and yet most of us don't even know it.

It wasn't that she was sad—sadness had very little to do with it, really, considering that most of the time, she felt close to nothing at all. Feeling required nerves, connections, sensory input. The only thing she felt was numb. And tired. Yes, she very frequently felt tired.

People say hate is like a poison — but they're wrong. It's like a drug. You never forget your first hit, how it seduces you with its strength and power, and takes you completely by storm. It colors your world in light and meaning, until you wonder how you ever managed to get by without it. And then, eventually, you get to a point where you can't. It takes over your life, until hating becomes your reason for living.

Why do women always feel they have to settle for less?

When we mated I felt your heart stop beating and it was as if the world had stopped turning. It was only while surrounded by death that I realized I had never felt more alive.

Life doesn't come with an eraser. Experiences leave their mark, for better or for worse. Anyone who tells you otherwise has never been hurt.

You are my star and you have made me see,” he tells her, “and I am the air beneath your wings, never rending, never ending.

I was supposed to be powerless, and as a result they failed to see that I possessed claws.

A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport.

In some ways blowjobs are better than sex because when you have a mouthful of cock you can't make snide comments.

Since when did psychiatry become one big, fat Myspace survey?

Death is one lover who cannot be spurned.

When they figure out how to bottle up orgasms and sell them as a food additive, I'll be first in line.

That's what I fear: being subtracted from myself. Negation. Forced against my will to become a beast.

Girls can fight with swords, too. Sometimes, even better than men can. They just have to want it badly enough that they're willing to work harder at it.

I'm pretty sure those're my balls you've found,” I said to the man searching my pants. “You gonna count 'em out now? Because I'll save you the trouble. There's two.

I was cyber-bullied before all those Myspace-related suicides, so my school principal wasn't really impressed when my mom complained about what was happening to me on my Xanga blog and on AIM chat.“Get your life sorted out, you fucking scitzo [sic] dyke tranny bitch,” one comment might say.Another comment would say something like, “I know she's reading this, she's so pathetic.”And, perhaps most frightening of all: “I'm going to fuck you up until your mother bleeds.

Fairytales by nature only talk about the victors. The survivors. Nobody speaks about what happens to those who failed, except in the abstract: as cautionary tales to guide others onto the path to success. How many brave knights fell to the dragon before he was slayed by the noble prince? How many children burned to a crisp and eaten before the wicked witch received her due? These stories are lost, but the lesson behind them is not: it is not enough to be merely pure and good.

Ask yourself what a man without guile might do to your body in the dark.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks…damsels.

If a woman defined herself solely by the man she was with—and vice versa—the world would be a very shallow and insipid place, indeed.

Life's a party. So smile and eat shit and pretend it's fucking caviar.

All lines are gray in the dark.

A story unwritten is without beginning or end. But in its potential lies another story; and in the heartbeat before pen meets page, both stories exist at once, reflecting endless permutations of the other, before one of them disappears forever.

She started life with a number, not a name. Class: S, No. 13295. She has them memorized by rote, though nobody ever calls her that. The Scientists feel foolish addressing her in long, bewildering strings of alphanumerics. They have told her so themselves. To save time, they simply call her “Snow.

Time can be as fluid as water, and never in the way you'd like; it slows down to a standstill when you wish you could get things over with, and rushes by in a blur when you wish things would last.

No. I made that choice. I let all that anger and pain get twisted up in my thoughts for you.” He leaned in. “It fucking kills me. Every night. I relive what I did to you every night.” His forehead rested against mine. “Until you,” he said softly, “I never felt truly helpless.

If the whole world seems like it's against you, it helps to know that you've still got home. A safe place. It just takes one person—a teacher, a friend, a parent. If I didn't have you and Dad, if you hadn't made it so clear you loved me as much as you did, or if you'd said, 'yeah, why don't you do it, and put yourself out of our misery, just shut up,' I would have killed myself. I really would have. I spent most of those days wishing I were dead anyway, and what always stopped me was the fact that doing so would destroy the lives of the only people who ever cared about me.

Maybe it frightened them, to admit that a woman could be master of her fate.

Men who thought of themselves as gods fell the farthest, and the hardest.

Knowledge is a rope, and you're weaving a noose out of it. Leave some slack for the enemy.

Fuck your manners.""You don't have to settle for just my manners.