Why were love and death such close neighbors?
Wood always remembers it was once a living tree, alive and breathing in both kingdoms, the one above and the one below.
How clear one’s own desires become once they are made impossible.
You humans love mirrors. You have to constantly make sure you still have the same face. Nothing scares you more than if someone changes it.
Although we may wish for it, true magic is a scary thing.
Why did such truths only reveal themselves after they’d become lies?
How loud small noises sound in a silence.
If she’d known him better, she might’ve tried to explain to Will that life never lets you hide. Plant, animal, or human – life forced them all to grow and learn. The more you tried to run, the harder your path got, and you’d still have to travel it.
The darkness of the world made no distinctions; it entered its palaces as it did its huts.
How ridiculous that water ran out of your eyes when your heart hurt. Tragic heroines in books tended to be amazingly beautiful. Not a word about swollen eyes or a red nose. “Crying always gives me a red nose,” thought Elinor. “I expect that’s why I’ll never be in any book.
Words are immortal -until someone comes along and burns them.
Love is always a prison.
Her heart pounded as he kissed her. Or was it his heart? She hadn’t been able to tell the difference ever since he’d freed her from that trap.
It was hard to let go of love. Once woven, its ribbon was hard to tear, and this one she’d woven quite firmly herself.
Together. Even in death. His fingers tightened their grip around her hand. A double statue of silver. Romantic. What would their faces show? Fear? Or love?
What else but death could you hope to reap when you gave your heart to a mortal?
Look at your daughter,′ she whispered. ‘As brave as... as... ” She wanted to compare Meggie to a hero in some story but all the heroes she could think of were men, and anyway none of them seemed to her brave enough for comparison to the girl standing there, perfectly straight, scrutinizing Capricorn’s Black Jackets, with her chin jutting out defiantly.
There it was, that familiar fear, love’s terrible price.
Yesterday. Was there a more merciless word?
Sometimes Fox thought all the men she knew had the dreams and wishes of nine-year-old boys – at least all the men she liked.