It is easier to confront a threat as a mass, a group, not individuals who must be evaluated one by one...
To draw something is to try to capture it forever.
I’d rather have you in my life even as a brother than not at all –.
I knew then that Jocelyn would never come back to me, because of you. You are the only thing in the world she ever loved more than she loved me. And because of that she hates me. And because of that, I hate the sight of you.
Lord Raziel. Surely yoy would not have allowed such a thing as a ritual by wich you might be summoned to exist if you did not intend to be summoned. We Nephilim are your children. We need your guidance.
I love your name. I love the sound of it.
Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me and will fight with me.
You and your name dropping he said, I knew Michael, I knew Sammael. The angel Gabriel did my hair. Its like I’m with the band with biblical figures.
That the wall is coming down.
He would look so young. They were both so young. Tessa knew it was unusual to marry at seventeen and eighteen, but they were racing a clock. The clock of Jem’s life, before it wound down.
Will gave a short laugh. He was in gear as if he had just come from the practice room, and his hair curled damply against his temples. He was not looking at Tessa, but she had grown used to that. Will hardly ever looked at her unless he had to.
Don’t make it sound like that. Like some ordinary sort of grief. It’s not like that. They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite. Over. This is a fresh wound every day.
Pointless, needless suffering and pain? I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that was the way life is. The good suffer, the evil flourish, and all that is mortal passes away.
There is no cure for fictional character love, but the plus side is that it is an entirely benign disease with no bad side effects.
There was a man once who said that mothers carry the key of our souls with them all our lives. But you threw mine away.
Tessa is gone, and every moment she is gone is a knife ripping me apart from the inside.
You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.
Choosing love or war: both are brave choices, in their own ways.
Some secrets, she thought, were better told; some were better left the burden of the carrier, that they might not cause pain to others.
Forsooth, I no longer toil in vain, To prove that demon pox warps the brain. So though ’ti pity, it’s not in vain That the pox-ridden worm was slain: For to believe in me, you all must deign.