75 Quotes by Dana Marton

He scissored his legs, pulled hers out from under her, and brought her to the ground. Then, on some stupid impulse, he rolled on top of her to immobilize her, like he would have with an enemy combatant. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, her long hair spread over the carpet of autumn leaves. She was soft against all his hard places. “Maybe I could get into this one-with-nature business.

I like thinking,” she added, “that the forest sounds the same as it did millions of years ago, and it will sound the same millions of years from now. I find the endlessness comforting. It puts my small problems into perspective. Like looking at the stars at night and realizing that everything I worried about all day is utterly insignificant compared to the vastness of the universe.

He raised his index finger between them. “If you bad-mouth coffee, I don’t think we can be friends.

I love you more than piranhas love chicken wings.

She sashayed into the kitchen like she lived there, and grabbed two glasses from the counter, rinsed them in the sink, all very domestic. His eyes strayed to her breasts. “You came to do dishes?” “I came to come.” She winked, smiling from ear to ear. “Gotta appreciate a straight-talking woman.

In the middle of the house stood the largest, scariest man she’d ever seen. Senhor Finch had been sunshine, but this foreigner was a night storm. He seemed to fill the house like a dark cloud. Too big, too strong, his gaze too sharp on her. And as she turned to flee, he thundered, “Stop!” And the next second, the man had her arm in his grip.

When I was young, I wanted to be an astronaut. Someone who flies in a spaceship to the moon,” he explained, in case she didn’t know the word. She thought about that for a moment. “But you didn’t go.” “Turns out I have dyslexia. It’s something in your brain that makes it hard to learn. Mine is not bad, just enough so I couldn’t pass the test.” “I’m glad you didn’t go to the moon,” she said. “I think it’s better that you came here.

The Potomac had taken away Linda and the boys. The Rio Negro had given him Daniela. One river had swallowed his heart; another river, halfway around the world, had gifted it back. A different heart, beaten up, scarred, but a beating heart at least.

Quickly, Ian learned the danger of holding her. Once he allowed his arm around her, letting her go was nearly impossible.