“I was waiting for you," he says softly, his eyes dark gray and luminous."That's... that's such a lovely thing to say.""It's true. I didn't know it at the time." He smiles his shy smile."I'm glad you waited.""You are worth waiting for, Mrs. Grey.””
“[Ana] “You’re a sadist?”“I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.“What does that mean?” I whisper.“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.“Why would I do that?”“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Christian Grey. And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted with me. It’s a revelation.””
“First Pallas and now you,” the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. “It’s like I’m running a goddamn dating service around here.””
“How can i eat now? I'm going to Seattle by helicopter with Christian Gray..And he wants to bite my lip..””
“I'm tired of my life, my clothes, the things I say. I'm hacking away at the surface, as at some kind of gray ice, trying to break through to what is underneath or I am dead. I can feel the surface trembling”
“We’re going to rectify the situation right now.”“What do you mean? What situation?”“Your situation. Ana, I’m going to make love to you, now.”“Oh.” The floor has fallen away. I’m a situation. I’m holding my breath.“That’s if you want to, I mean, I don’t want to push my luck.”“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.“I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers, it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too.” His gray gaze is intense””
James M. Gray was an influential American author and theologian known for his contributions to Christian literature and biblical scholarship. Born in 1851, he became a prominent figure in the early 20...
“Are you sure, Gray?'He lifted his eyes. 'No . . . I'm not. I'm not sure of a damn thing.' He slipped his hands free of the monsignor's and peeled the battery off the phone, cutting the last ring in half. 'But that doesn't mean I won't act.””
“September 10, 1965 Dear Francesca, Enclosed are two photographs. One is the shot I took of you in the pasture at sunrise. I hope you like it as much as I do. The other is of Roseman Bridge before I removed your note tacked to it. I sit here trolling the gray areas of my mind for every detail, every moment, of our time together. I ask myself over and over, “What happened to me in Madison County, Iowa?” And I struggle to bring it together. That’s why I wrote the little piece, “Falling from Dimension Z,” I have enclosed, as a way of trying to sift through my confusion. I look down the barrel of a lens, and you’re at the end of it. I begin work on an article, and I’m writing about you. I’m not even sure how I got back here from Iowa. Somehow the old truck brought me home, yet I barely remember the miles going by. A few weeks ago, I felt self-contained, reasonably content. Maybe not profoundly happy, maybe a little lonely, but at least content. All of that has changed. It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another. The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable”
“Don’t,” he murmurs, then kisses me lightly. “Why don’t you like to be touched?” I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes. “Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia.””
“SATURDAY AT THE STORE is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton and John and Patrick”