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Monster Quotes

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Monster Quotes

“My little man,” she said. “No.” She stretched out her hand to him. “Come.” “I can’t,” he said. “Sam, I’m your mother. I love you. Come with me.” “Mom…” “Just reach out to me. I’m safe. I can carry you away, out of this place.” Sam shook his head slowly, slowly, like he was drowning in molasses. Something was happening to time. Astrid wasn’t breathing. Nothing was moving. The whole world was frozen. “It will be like it was,” his mother said. “It was never…,” he began. “You lied to me. You never told me…” “I never lied,” she said, and frowned at him, disappointed. “You never told me I had a brother. You never told—” “Just come with me,” she said, impatient now, jerking her hand a little like she would when he was a little kid and refused to take her hand to cross the street. “Come with me now, Sam. You’ll be safe and out of this place.” He reacted instinctively, the little boy again, reacted to the “mommy” voice, the “obey me” voice. He reached for her, stretched his hand out to her. And pulled it back. “I can’t,” Sam whispered. “I have someone I have to stay here for.” Anger flashed in his mother’s eyes, a green light, surreal, before she blinked and it was gone. And then, out of the bleached, unreal world, Caine stepped into the eerie light. Sam’s mother smiled at Caine, and he stared at her wonderingly. “Nurse Temple,” Caine said. “Mom,” she corrected. “It’s time for both my boys to join me, to come away with me. Out of this place.” Caine seemed spellbound, unable to tear his gaze away from the gentle, smiling face, the piercing blue eyes. “Why?” Caine asked in a small child’s voice. Their mother said nothing. Once again, for just a heartbeat, her blue eyes glowed a toxic green before returning to cool, icy blue. “Why him and not me?” Caine asked. “It’s time to come with me now,” their mother insisted. “We’ll be a family. Far from here.” “You first, Sam,” Caine said. “Go with your mother.” “No,” Sam said. Caine’s face darkened with rage. “Go, Sam. Go. Go. Go with her.” He was shouting now. He seemed to want to grab Sam physically, push him toward the mother they had not quite shared, but his movements were odd, disjointed, a jerky stick figure in a dream. Caine gave up trying. “Jack told you,” he said dully. “No one told me anything,” Sam said. “I have things I have to do here.” Their mother extended her arms to them, angry, demanding to be heeded. “Come to me. Come to me.” Caine shook his head slowly. “No.” “But you’re the man of the house now, Sam,” his mother wheedled. “My little man. Mine.” “No,” Sam said. “I’m my own man.” “And I was never yours,” Caine sneered. “Too late now, Mother.” The face of their mother wavered. The tender flesh seemed to break apart in jigsaw-puzzle pieces. The gently smiling, pleading mouth melted, collapsed inward. In its place a mouth ringed with needle-sharp teeth. Eyes filled with green fire. “I’ll have you yet,” the monster raged with sudden violence. Caine stared in horror. “What are you?” “What am I?” the monster mocked him savagely. “I’m your future. You’ll come to me on your own in the dark place, Caine. You will come willingly to me.”

“It was not a monster that lay sleeping on the white sheets. Nor a faceless horror. Nor even the white bear. It was a man. His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair, I suppose, but he was a stranger and that somehow was the greatest shock of all- that I had been lying all these months beside a complete stranger.”

“This is the Manifesto of Little Monster There is something heroic about the way my fans operate their cameras. So precisely, so intricately and so proudly. Like Kings writing the history of their people, is their prolific nature that both creates and procures what will later be percieved as the kingdom. So the real truth about Lady Gaga fans, my little monsters, lies in this sentiment: They are the Kings. They are the Queens. They write the hisory of the kingdom and I am something of a devoted Jester. It is in the theory of perception that we have established our bond, or the lie I should say, for which we kill. We are nothing without our image. Without our projection. Without the spiritual hologram of who we percieve ourselves to be or rather to become, in the future. When you are lonely, I will be lonely too. And this is the fame.”

“I whispered to the lurking dark behind me, 'What is your price?' ... Company. Send me company. I opened my mouth, but them said, 'To- eat?' A laugh that made my skin crawl. To tell me of life. ... 'It's a bargain,' I breathed. The skin along my left forearm tingled. The thing behind me... I could have sworn I felt it smile.”

“To the North of this, in the direction of the West, I saw The Place Where The Silent Ones Kill; and this was so named, because there, maybe ten thousand years gone, certain humans adventuring from the Pyramid, came off the Road Where The Silent Ones Walk, and into that place, and were immediately destroyed. And this was told by one who escaped; though he died also very quickly, for his heart was frozen. And this I cannot explain; but so it was set out in the Records.”

“A girl clutched Magnus’s sleeve and gazed up at him, her false lashes dusted with silver glitter. “Don’t go in,” she whispered. “There’s a monster in there.” I am a monster, Magnus thought. And monsters are his specialty. He didn’t say it. Instead he said, “I don’t believe you,” and walked in. He meant it, too: the Shadowhunters, even Alec, might believe Magnus was a monster, but Magnus didn’t believe it himself. He’d taught himself not to believe it even though his mother, the man he’d called his father, and a thousand others had told him it was true. Magnus would not believe the girl in there was a monster either, no matter what she might look like to mundanes and Nephilim. She had a soul, and that meant she could be saved.”

“What's at the bottom of the pit?' I asked as Rhys came up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. 'I once dared Cassian to fly down and see,' Rhys braced his hands on the railing, gazing down into the gloom. 'And?' 'And he came back up, faster than I've ever seen him fly, white as death. He never told me what he saw. The first few weeks, I thought it was a joke- just to pique my curiosity. But when I finally decided to see for myself a a month later, he threatened to tie me to a chair. He said some things were better left unseen and undisturbed. It's been two hundred years, and he still won't tell me what he saw. If you even mention it, he goes pale and shaky and won't talk for a few hours.' My blood chilled. 'Is it... some sort of monster?' 'I have no idea.' Rhys jerked his chin toward Clotho, the priestess patiently waiting a few steps behind us, her face still in shadow. 'They don't speak or write of it, so if they know... They certainly won't tell me. So if it doesn't bother us, then I won't bother it. That is, if it's even an it. Cassian never said if he saw anything living down there. Perhaps it's something else entirely.' Considering the things I'd already witnessed... I didn't want to think about what lay at the bottom of the library. Or what could make Cassian, who had seen more dreadful and deadly parts of the world than I could ever imagine, so terrified.”

“A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac; books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels... From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls... A junk shop- of some immortal horder. And that hoarder... In the gloom of the cottage, there sat a large spinning wheel, cracked and dulled with age. And before that ancient spinning wheel, her back to me, sat the Weaver. Her thick hair was of richest onyx, tumbling down to her slender waist as she worked the wheel, snow-white hands feeding and pulling the thread around a thorn-sharp spindle. She looked young- her grey gown simple but elegant, sparkling faintly in the dim forest light through the windows as she sang in a voice of glittering gold.”

“Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was grey- wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pins. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth- like she had gnawed on too many bones. And I knew she would be gnawing on my bones soon if I did not get out. Her nose- perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in- flared as she sniffed in my direction.”

“I hadn't known what to expect as I entered the ring of white trees- tall and straight as pillars- but it was not the tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes. Its hunched back facing me. I could count the hard knobs of its spine poking through the thin fabric. Spindly, scabby gray arms clawed at the snare with yellowed, cracked fingernails. ... Then slowly, it turned to me, the dark veil draped over its bald head, blowing in a phantom breeze. A face that looked like it had been crafted from dried, weatherworn bone, its skin either forgotten or discarded, a lipless mouth and too-long teeth held by blackened gums, slitted holes for nostrils, and eyes... eyes that were nothing more than swirling pits of milky white- the white of death, the white of sickness, the white of clean-picked corpses. Peeking above the ragged neck of its dark robes was a body of veins and bones, as dried and solid and horrific as the texture of its face. It let go of the snare, and its too-long fingers clicked against each other as it studied me.”

“Just like you need to understand that there is no way out of this. You belong to me.' My heart turned over slowly. 'Don't you mean I belong to the Dark One?' 'I meant what I said, Princess.' 'I don't belong to anyone.' 'If you believe that, then you are a fool,' he taunted, pressing his head to mine before I could lash out. 'Or you're lying to yourself. You belonged to the Ascended. You know that. It's one of the things you hated. They kept you in a cage.' I never should've said anything to him. 'At least that cage was more comfortable than this one.' 'True,' he murmured, and a heartbeat passed. 'But you've never been free.' 'True or not.' And it was painfully true. 'That doesn't mean I'll stop fighting you,' I warned. 'I won't submit.' 'I know.' There was an odd tone to his voice, one that sounded like... admiration. But that didn't make sense. 'You're still a monster,' I told him. 'I am, but I wasn't born that way. I was made this way.”

“My darling Prometheus, you failed at being human. It’s such a simple thing to be human. You didn’t understand that you never had to be any good at it. You simply had to try. The modern Prometheus. I feel your inadequacy under my skin. Crawling like worms. You possessed that love and rage indeed. Entertain away, dear Monster. Frankenstein forced you into humanity. Tried to make you a man. That was his first mistake. You should have aimed for the Gods.”

“She flailed in spinning darkness. Up and down blurred and warped, and she was drowning- Spindly hands slammed into her chest, one wrapping around her throat as her back hit something soft and silty. The bottom. No, she wouldn't end like this, helpless as she'd been that day against the Cauldron- Lips and teeth collided with her mouth, and she screamed as the kelpie kissed her. His black tongue shoved into her mouth, tasting of foul meat. For a heartbeat, she wasn't beneath the water, but against a woodpile in the human lands, Tomas's hard mouth crashing into hers, his hands pawing at her- Nesta struggled to pull her head away, to free her mouth, but air filled her lungs. As if the kelpie had breathed into her. As if he wanted her alive a little longer, to prolong her pain. The kelpie withdrew, and Nesta had enough sense to shut her aching, brutalised mouth, to trap in that breath he had given her. To not question how such a thing was even possible. The kelpie's hands ripped at her body, tearing away every weapon with unerring aim, as if he did not need to see in this darkness, as if those large black eyes could pick up any trickle of light like some deep-sea creature. Her entire body went stiff and unmoving, each brutal touch entitled and furious and delighting in her fear. When he had disarmed her, her lungs were burning again, and she felt that thin male body pushing her into the bottom once more as he shoved his mouth to hers. She gagged, but opened for him, letting him fill her mouth with another life-giving breath that had nothing to do with kindness. His tongue wriggled like a worm against hers, and his spindly, too-large hands ran down her breasts, her waist, and when she gagged again, fighting against her sob, his laugh puffed through her lips. He pulled away, rows of teeth ripping at her mouth as he did, and she shook when he lingered, stroking at her hair. His little prize- that was what the touch said. How he would make her suffer and beg before the end. She had escaped the monsters of the human realm only to find the same ones above the wall. Had escaped from Tomas only to wind up here, raging as she had then.”

“Im nächsten Moment spürte er, wie etwas Schweres in seine Seite krachte und ihn zu Boden riss. Er landete unsanft auf dem Boden, sodass ihm kurz die Luft wegblieb, und ächzte. Was war geschehen? Hatte ihn ein Zug erwischt? Sein ganzer Körper schmerzte und seine Brust brannte, als hätte er sich ein paar Rippen gebrochen. Mühsam drehte er den Kopf und blickte in das Antlitz eines schwarzen Monsters, das ihn mit geblecktem Maul drohend anknurrte. Geifer lief ihm von den langen, gefährlich aussehenden Reißzähnen, die immer näher kamen. Und Jay begriff, dass Mordlust in den finsteren Augen des Untiers glänzte.”

“You want to stab me again, don't you?" He didn't look at all ashamed. "Think of it as testing the limits of your new abilities." I groaned. "I've created a monster." "I don't think someone who recently crawled from the grave should be throwing around labels like 'monster,'" he said, making sarcastic little air-quotes fingers. "It wasn't a grave," I sniffed. "It was a comfy four-poster.”

“Then the queenmother said, "I am done with weeping." She whistled for the grey wolves that guarded her keep, and they loped at her heels as she rode around the Inward Sea and south to Ramas, and the way was long and hard. She knelt before her brother, King Thyrse, and begged him to lend this strength to save her son and kingdom from the lamia's stranglehold. But he bade her go hom to her northern keep, saying, "It more befits a woman to weep than to war." She rent her gown and showed under it a corset of steel, saying, "Brother, by our sire and our dame, remember the same blood runs in both our veins.”