Kaladin screamed, reaching the end of the bridge. Finding a tiny surge of strength somewhere, he raised his spear and threw himself off the end of the wooden platform, launching into the air above the cavernous void. Bridgemen cried out in dismay. Syl zipped about him with worry. Parshendi looked up with amazement as a lone bridgeman sailed through the air toward them. His drained, worn-out body barely had any strength left. In that moment of crystallized time, he looked down on his enemies. Parshendi with their marbled red and black skin. Soldiers raising finely crafted weapons, as if to cut him from the sky. Strangers, oddities in carapace breastplates and skullcaps. Many of them wearing beards. Beards woven with glowing gemstones. Kaladin breathed in. Like the power of salvation itself—like rays of sunlight from the eyes of the Almighty—Stormlight exploded from those gemstones. It streamed through the air, pulled in visible streams, like glowing columns of luminescent smoke. Twisting and turning and spiraling like tiny funnel clouds until they slammed into him. And the storm came to life again.

Most sexually adventurous women want a man who regards cunnilingus as a basic woman right.

Music is much like fucking, but some composers can't climax and others climax too often, leaving themselves and the listener jaded and spent.

The music as always had a dark sweet luster, but it was more than ever like an endless beginning-a theme ever building to a climax which would never come.

We all know what’s coming. The winds are picking up, spiralling closer and bringing with it a great wave of destruction…none of us can hide…no matter which side you choose, you’ll be dragged into the line of fire and who’s to say, my friend, which of us will come out alive?

Discipline your sexuality for it has the proclivity to cause a productivity that can influence now and posterity.

The term - 'Fairy-Tales' is so ironical in itself, when I sometimes sit to write love stories with a happy ending, it usually drags me into a dilemma whether, I should even begin with a love story at first place or not? Because honestly, I haven't seen many of them reaching climax, most of them just die out in the mid. Then comes the concept of fairy tales or what we say 'fiction', where nothing is impossible!But over time, if I've realized something, it is that there's no such term called fiction when it comes to reality! Its harsh, in-your-face-sarcastic, ironical and highly irrational. You can't expect what's coming up next, and how it's going to blow you. In the real life, the entire meaning of fiction ceases to exist. Conclusively, we writers, deal with harsh reality and write lively fictions, this job in itself is so ironical but, that's life...

Life is like a story, when all the resolution is resolved, you heave a sigh of relief.

When coming to sex: First served, first come.

A good story or a book is all about it's power to hold it's readers still till the very last word of it's climax - complexity in language, dialogues, descriptions, everything else is secondary!

Simon laughed heartily. “I’m afraid the rest of us have to find talents to get our women into bed. Of course once they’re there, I have other talents that keep them right where they are.”“Handcuffs hardly count,” Christian said offhandedly.“If you mean the ladies cuffing me to the bed so they can explore Hunt Island,” he said, rubbing his chest, “…then point taken. These hands are capable of making any female climax by the mere brush of a pinky across her bare breast.”“I must have gone to the wrong island,” I said with a private laugh.

The only point in creating something is to watch it die. Like a story that must come to a climax, what I have done will not be fulfilled until the end has arrived.

You walk between gods and men. Your choices are only between despair and hope!