We look at each other for a moment and for once I feel awkward. It’s not that I’m not into humility; I’ve just never had to practise it.
A clean house will result in peace in the Middle East as well.
You can’t go around feeling too much.
Froi saw the foolishness of dreamers, and he decided he’d like to die so foolish. With a dream in his heart about the possibilities, rather than a chain of hopelessness.
Because today, I think I’m leaning on the side of wonder.
I live on the Jellicoe Road. Where trees make canopies over-head and where you can sit at the top of them and see forever.
About my first memory, sitting on the shoulders of a giant who I know can only be my father. Of touching the sky. Of lying between two people who read me stories of wild things and journeys with dragons, the soft hum of their voices speaking of love and serenity. See, I remember love.
Do you want to know something about tyrants? When faced with death, they weep and they beg just like the rest of us.
Why do I feel like something’s missing in my life without them and they don’t feel the same about me?
I think if I’m ever asked to recall what Year 12 was all about, I’ll remember it as one big cappuccino experience.
Just say up on the hill is the meaning of life and someone knew it and they wanted everyone else to enjoy it. So they put a red vinyl sofa up there.
Don’t let me outlive this woman. Don’t let me exist one moment without her.
Causing a riot is what I do best.
You were never able to break her. She is the stone of this kingdom.
You’re going to set us all on fire, you homicidal feral fruitcake.
Oh, you’ve outdone me twice now, you queen of forgiveness. The ring’s a promise of peace and I’m greedy with hope. It’s a song that we sing in a tongue that we share. And though you say it’s a gift from a king to a king, I say it’s a sign from a queen to a queen.
I still wake with your name on my lips every morning.
It still amazes him how they could have been misled by her personality in Year Eleven. It’s what depression does to a person, it changes them completely.
Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.
Phaedra of Alonso’s death was a never-ending pain that gnawed at his insides. It made him a prisoner in his own cottage.