Ronan was not going to Henry Cheng’s under any circumstances. All that smiling and activism gave him a rash.
He wanted to stay so badly, in this place where he had begun to put violence down. In the place where he’d learned how to feel again. In this place that he loved.
His quest was a wolf, and it starved. – Gansey.
The books were never the same book. They were fat and brick-shaped and the fronts always bore images of men who didn’t seem to have any shirts or other possessions. Sometimes all they seemed to have was another man or sometimes a lady or sometimes both, who they held tightly.
All of the tir e e’lintes are full of potential, always moving, always restless, always looking for possibilities to reach out and be somewhere else, be something else. This tree, that tree, that forest, that forest. But more than anything, we love the stars.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that Ronan was looking at him, as he had been looking at him for months. Adam looked back, as he had been looking back for months.
Ronan loved it so much. He nearly couldn’t bear it. He wanted to destroy something.
He dreaded the supermarket line chitchat. He waited until the postal service lady had knocked on the door, left the package, and gotten in her vehicle to open his door. His dog dying had been bad, I could tell, but the worst part for him had been trying to figure out how to handle the pity of the vet assistants.
Francisco did not reply. When he did not like the sound of something, he merely went away inside his head, where it was quieter.
Matthew believed him; why shouldn’t he? Ronan had never lied.
What fresh hell is this?” Gansey asked pleasantly.
He did not say that the only true nightmare was not being able to do something and that this, at least, was something.
Leyla sat in the middle of the floor performing yoga or meditation. I couldn’t remember if they were actually different things. I thought meditation was the one that didn’t require special pants.
Right after he spoke, Blue threw her arms tightly around his neck. Right after he spoke, she pressed her face into the side of his. Right after he spoke, she held him like a shouted word. Love, love, love.
Intimacy was allowed as long as it revealed nothing truthful. Which wasn’t very intimate at all.
A realization that even if you had discovered the future, it really didn’t change how you lived in the present. They were truth, but they weren’t all the truth.
The guilt and the worry had already worn off by the time his head hit the pillow, and all that was left was the happiness.
Adam kept watching. He was good at this part, the observing of others. It was himself that he couldn’t seem to study or understand. How he despised them, how he wanted to be them. How pointless to summer in Maine, how much he wanted to do it. How affected he found their speech, how he coveted their lazy monotones. He couldn’t tell how all of these things could be equally true.
Neatness makes me feel like I have to be on my best behavior.
As a child, he’d been so terrible that Rosa Soria had sent him twice to be exorcised. He’d been so terrible that he’d chased a field of sheds out into the road one week and burned down a herd of cattle the next. He’d been so terrible that the cowboys at the neighboring ranch still used his name as a cuss word.