“It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.”
“No rose without a thorn but many a thorn without a rose.”
“Fresh, sweet honeysuckle. Ripe and rich and ready to be fucked—PLUCKED, he corrected himself, ready to be plucked.”
“Some people are like thorns. But you have to let them be thorns, because thorns can't turn into petals. The trick is not letting them prick you; never let a thorn prick you!”
“No rose without a thorn. Yes, but many a thorn without a rose.”
“Honeysuckle. She smelled of honeysuckle. He thought about her pert little nose. He'd wanted to smile every time she tilted it to demonstrate her disdain toward him. If her obvious hatred for him hadn't been so great, hadn't hurt so badly, he might have smiled.”