The function of hate, as Sarai saw it, was to stamp out compassion – to close a door to one’s own self and forget it was ever there.
Why should we have to disappear just because men are animals?
He didn’t believe in magic and demons. He believed in day and night, endurance and fury, cold mud and loneliness and the speed with which blood leaves the body.
She hadn’t known she was crushed until she wasn’t, and she didn’t know she was fragmented until she became whole.
He’d felt this before and never wanted to feel it again. It could only diminish the memory of Madrigal; it already was. Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played.
Thyon, earthbound, felt every choice he’d made, every action he’d taken as a weight he carried with him. He wondered: Was it weight he could shed or throw off, or what it forever part of him, as much as his bones or his hearts?
A dream, just a dream. Damn it. How had it gotten in? Lurking vulture dreams, circling, just waiting for her to nod off.
And Lazlo was surprised by the strength of his gratitude – to be believed, even by a tomb raider from a family of assassins. Or perhaps especially by a tomb raider from a family of assassins.
And if redemption was self-serving, coming as it did ribbon-tied to what he wanted most in life? For once, Akiva’s shame wouldn’t rise to the bait. He wanted what he’d always wanted, and he’d better just say it, his own worries and fears be damned.
My heart feels zested. Finely shredded and ready to add to cake batter. It doesn’t hurt, because it’s not there anymore. Like the angel’s chest, with her empty heart hole – but without the sparkler.
Without his books, Lazlo felt as though a vital link to his dream had been cut.
After the week she’d had, she wanted to go to the cafe and sink into a couch, gossip and laugh and sketch and drink tea and make up for lost normal.
Plus, it would be fun. Don’t you think? I’ve always wanted to tase someone. Zap!” Zuzana mimicked convulsions.
A person could be driven mad by hate. It was a force as destructive as any Mesarthim gift, and harder to end than a god. The gods had been dead for fifteen years, after all, but their hate had lingered, and ruled in their stead.
The Greek philosopher Epictetus said, “First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.
There, there,” consoled Lazlo. “You’re a very fierce warrior. Don’t cry. You’re terrifying.
One can’t be irredeemable who shows reverence for books.
He had melted away, and she felt his absence like a space cut from the air.
Anyone who would wear all white like that clearly has issues.
Her wish that first time was simple, focused, and passionate: that she would see him again. Believing she was the only way she could bring herself to leave.