He was struck by what a glorious and fearless animal Blue Sargent was, and he made a mental note to tell her that very thing, if she didn’t drown getting whatever the second thing was.
Ronan Lynch’s stare was a snake on the sidewalk where you wanted to walk. It was a match left on your pillow. It was pressing your lips together and tasting your own blood.
I want it too much,” Adam said. That sentence, Ronan thought, was enough to undo all bad feeling he might have had meeting Adam’s Harvard friends, all bad feeling about looking like a loser, all bad feeling about feeling stuck, all bad feeling, ever. Adam Parrish wanted him, and he wanted Adam Parrish.
Blue remained secretly hopeful that, somewhere out there in the world, there were other odd people like her.
Adam pronounced love very carefully, as if it were an unfamiliar element on the periodic table.
Humans are as drawn to hope as owls are to miracles. It only takes the suggestion of it to stir them up, and the eagerness lingers for a while even when all traces of it are gone.
What a treasure that smile was, passed down through the ages from father to son, tucked away in hope chests during son-less generations, buffed and displayed proudly whenever company was over.
Even when I was happy, I felt like I was always looking for the edges on life. The seams. I was so perfectly born to die.
It makes sense that there’s a family history for your condition,” he said. “Do you eat all of the men in the family? Where do they go? Does this house have a basement?” Blue stood up. “It’s like boot camp. They can’t hack it. Poor things.” “Poor me,” he said.
She stood on the ledge of his smile and looked over the edge.
This was like walking the line between dream and sleep. The night-sharp balance of being asleep enough to dream and awake enough to remember what he wanted.
The opposite of magical is not ordinary. The opposite of magical is mankind. The world is a neon sign; it says HUMANITY but everything is burnt out except MAN.
Ronan hadn’t known anything about who Adam was then and, if possible, he’d known even less about who he himself was, but as they drove away from the boy with the bicycle, this was how it had begun: Ronan leaning back against his seat and closing his eyes and sending up a simple, inexplicable, desperate prayer to God: Please.
Even a small voice is still a voice.
His mother’s father had been a diplomat, an architect of fortunes; his father’s father had been an architect, a diplomat of styles.
Although Adam suspected there was a god, he also suspected it didn’t actually matter.
What a shame that both miracles and radio waves are invisible, because ti would be quite a sight: ribbons of marvel and sound stretching out straight and true from all over the world.
Without Blue there to make him stronger, without Gansey there to make him human, without Ronan there to make him belong, Noah was a frightening thing.
Ronan’s smile cut his face, but he looked kinder than Blue had ever seen him, like the raven in his hand was his heart, finally laid bare.
You can’t compare one person’s coping capacity to another, hon.