804 Quotes About Urban-fantasy

How readily we crush our dreams, without even turning over the first stone, so willing to be the victims of circumstance! She felt utterly miserable on behalf of all the teenagers the world over and allowed herself a few minutes more self-pity for the life she’d wasted, and the ones so many more would throw away. Doing as you pleased at this age, without seeking the help and advice of those qualified to give it, equaled marching into a minefield.

Fueled by rage at God, or whoever else came up with the preposterous concept of free will, Anaya turned more corners. My challenges were cruel to the core. With so many choices to make in life, the line was hair-thin between success and failure, having money or being broke, being loved or hated, alive or dead.

Her regularly squared and french-tipped nails were dangerously chipped and jagged, and she touched her platinum hair so often that it had started to look like the kinked bristles of an overused toothbrush.

The stained-glass window on the front door shatters into tiny pieces behind her as it slams shut when he gets to it at last. It sounds like a musical cadence, heightening some eerie psycho movie score.

And then they came upon it. It was painted in the most cat-retch shade of beige you ever beheld.

A red carpet and red rope stanchion sets demarcated a runway and seating areas. Silhouettes of prominent action heroes posing on silver and gold LED blocks illuminated the whole area. Black silk covered tables and chairs, with centerpieces of colossal martini glasses containing glowing ice cubes.

Anaya inhaled the rich scent of soil, along with the sharp, citric smell of thriving vegetation and the sweetness of fresh dew. Her eyes drifted shut and she pricked up her ears, the gushing sound of the nearby waterfalls enveloping her.

Abstract white cirrus clouds streaked across the sky. The cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and disturbed the ones settled on the ground. Anaya couldn’t help but see a metaphor in that.

Despite its ferocious name, or perhaps because of it, it was the head of the pack of six bars in town. The sweet smell of cider and dank cigarette smoke wafted up her nostrils. Better than Lucy’s sweaty armpits at Emberswick Bar & Grill.