A man made his own future. He chipped it from whatever hardships insinuated themselves into his life; he carved out the happy, glad moments to capture his gratitude for them. It came from the simple magic of merely living. Of surviving. Seeking.
I shall always do what must be done,” Athena said. “Yet the question remains – will you?
If there were once heroes, they are all gone now,” her father said, rising. “Only the monsters remain.
Everyone’s entitled to stupidity, but they really abuse the privilege, don’t they?
But how we are remembered is less important than what we do now.
Anger was like a disease to the soul, and no aspect of it was more contagious than violence. If it could be avoided, it would end a vicious cycle before it began. But this was a vicious society.
I chose to stay in,” he told her. “I’m not leaving before I get the ones who caged me.
I love you more with every sunrise.
She would never be more than what she was now: a girl standing at the threshold of a secret world, without a key to unlock the way.
He said nothing, but, then, he never needed to. His face was a book that had been written only for her. Its story unfolded while he watched her watch him.
She could have been anyone’s grandmother – if it hadn’t been for the flaming bottle she clutched in her hand.
He became the answer to every doubt and lingering question.
I will never hurt you, or yell at you, or let you go hungry. I will protect you for the rest of my life. I will never fully understand what you’ve been through, but I will always listen when you need to get something out. Do you understand?
Tradition should not stand if its roots are rotten.
There are far worse things to become than a monster.
I’d rather be the fool who hopes and works toward change than the cynic who does nothing and laughs when his doubts are proven right.
It’s the feeling you get when you realize something you once lost is lost forever, and you can never get it back again.
Interesting” had been his only comment.
Let the dead die, Tamsy,” he told me once “It’s only memory that truly pains us, and they release it when they go.
The problem with siblings, I decided, was that they spent years gathering up all these little daggers of observation and learning exactly where to slip them between your bones.
A library was a home to those who dreamt of better places.