Once, there was a girl who vowed she would save everyone in the world, but forgot herself.
All friendships are negotiations of power.
I thought weirdness was a good thing. I don’t mean that defensively, either. I thought it was something to be cultivated.
Mine. The language of love is like that, possessive. That should be the first warning that it’s not going to encourage anyone’s betterment.
If she was going to die, she might as well die sarcastic.
Even from the beginning, that was the problem. People liked pretty things. People even liked pretty things that wanted to kill and eat them.
Death has his favorites, like anyone. Those who are beloved of Death will not die.
Jewels, lies, slips of paper, dried flowers, memories of thing long past, useless quotations, idle hands, beads, buttons, and mischief.
He was saying that the end of the world wasn’t an accident; it was a joke.
Instead, it just reminded her that sometimes there were no good choices.
One night you will ask me for something I cannot give.
You are more dangerous than daybreak.
When you don’t know what you’re searching for, you have to look absolutely everywhere.
He was as honest as any criminal can hope to be.
He wondered whether growing up was learning that most stories turned out to be lies.
I thought you needed to be tougher. But I’ve been thinking that protecting somebody by hurting them before someone else gets the chance isn’t the kind of protecting that anybody wants.
There’s people who do things and people who never do – who say they will someday, but they just don’t. I want to go on a quest. I’ve always wanted to go on a quest. And now that I have one, I’m not backing down from it. I’m not going home until it’s complete.
Our tragedy is that we forget it might be someone else first.
Lie until even you believe it – that’s the real secret of lying.
Death’s favorites don’t die.