Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must.
I have lied and I have betrayed and I have triumphed. If only there was someone to congratulate me.
Let’s have a toast. To the incompetence of our enemies.
Because you’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. Because I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale.
Mock me all you like. Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips.” His eyes are black with desire. “By you, I am forever undone.
Kill him before he makes you love him.
Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.
By you, I am forever undone.
I need to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life and start figuring out the one I have.
That’s what comes of hungering for something; you forget to check if it’s rotten before you gobble it down.
If he thought I was bad, I would be worse. If he thought I was cruel, I would be horrifying.
I love you like in the storybooks. I love you like in the ballads. I love you like a lightning bolt. I’ve loved you since the third month you came and spoke with me. I loved that you made me want to laugh. I loved the way you were kind and the way you would pause when you spoke, as though you were waiting for me to answer you. I love you and I am mocking no one when I kiss you, no one at all.
If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.
But kissing Locke never felt the way that kissing Cardan does, like taking a dare to run over knives, like an adrenaline strike of lightning, like the moment when you’ve swum too far out in the sea and there is no going back, only cold black water closing over your head.
There’s always something left to lose.
But I will not stand in front of your happiness. I will not even stand in front of misery that you choose for yourself.
Before, I never knew how far I would go. Now I believe I have the answer. I will go as far as there is to go. I will go way too far.
I love my parents’ murderer; I suppose I could love anyone.
Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh.
He’s flint, you’re tinder.