Wanting to live, but accepting death to save others: that was courage. That was to be Gansey’s greatness.
She felt one thousand years old. She also felt like maybe she was a condescending brat. She wanted her bike. She wanted her friends, who were also one-thousand-year-old condescending brats. She wanted to live in a world where she was surrounded by one-thousand-year-old condescending brats.
Ronan Lynch loved to dream about light.
Ronan was angry-every one of his emotions that wasn’t happiness was anger.
It was just that there was something newly powerful about this assembled family in the car. They were all growing up and into each other like trees striving together for the sun.
He was so much more dangerous when he wasn’t angry.
Was Ronan even human? Half a dreamer, half a dream, maker of ravens and hoofed girls and entire lands.
It’ll be OK. I’m ready. Blue, kiss me.
I was looking for a miracle, but I got a story instead, and sometimes those are the same thing.
There was something unfamiliar about him. Something ferocious about his eyes, some sort of bite in his faint smile. Something altogether hectic and unsettled. She stood on the ledge of his smile and looked over the edge.
If it had a social security number, Ronan had fought with it.
Depending on where you began the story, it was about Noah Czerny.
Tell me,” Artemus whispered, ” when you dream, do you dream of the stars?
She drifted towards the bedroom, on her way to have a bath or take a nap or start a war.
I know you are not the same as him, Adam said. But in my head, everything is always so tangled. I am such a damaged thing.
Need was Adam’s baseline, his resting pulse. Love was a privilege. Adam was privileged; he did not want to give it up. He wanted to remember again and again how it felt.
Now Blue looked promptly judgmental, which was about two ticks off from her ordinary expression and one tick off from Ronan’s.
I am alone in the world, and yet not alone enough to make each hour holy. I am lowly in this world, and yet not lowly enough for me to be just a thing to you, dark and shrewd. I want my will and I want to go with my will as it moves towards action. And I want, in those silent, somehow faltering times, to be with someone who knows, or else alone. I want to reflect everything about you, and I never want to be too blind or too ancient to keep your profound wavering image with me. I want to unfold. I don’t want to be folded anywhere, because there, where I’m folded, I am a lie.
On the outside, the three Lynch brothers appeared remarkably dissimilar: Declan, a butter-smooth politician; Ronan, a bull in a china-shop world; Matthew, a sunlit child. On the inside, the Lynch brothers were remarkably similar: They all loved cars, themselves, and each other.
Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.