The three hardest parts of writing a novel are writing the beginning, the middle, and the end.
We’re so close we could touch. All it would take is for me to reach out my hand. But neither of us makes a move.
It wasn’t that he called me a freak. It was the way he said it. Like he really meant it. Like he believed it.
And this is what she wants to do to people. Let them have their own lives, until she wants them. Give them the strength of giants, but not the power to control it.
She stares back into me, as if we are both seeking a humanity that neither of us has.
I have emotions,” I whisper. I am nothing but a black hole of emotions.
Family is never really gone.
I am surrounded by death, inside and out, and all it does is remind me of how futile everything is, everything ever was.
There’s a war going on, that much is clear. And I’m no longer sure I’m on the right side.
He treats books like treasured, rare things, and I guess they are, but my father used to dog-ear books and read them until they fell apart, and I like his method better.
And that’s why I’ll never be as good an Eldest as he is. Because I like a little chaos.
But sometimes I look at Phoebe and I think about how she had a bird inside her heart. On the outside, she’s just like everyone else, but I like to think that maybe she carries within her something magical and free.
I think death is easier than guilt sometimes.
All it took was a few years and the Skywalker twins to make him realize he could ask for help.
Art was a form of rebellion.
It wasn’t weapons that kept people obedient, despite what Motti, what Krennic, what Tarkin himself believed. Weapons riled people up, reminded them that they could fight. It was bureaucratic mediocrity that made them accept their fate. Show a man a blaster, and he looked for a way to take it for himself and turn it on you. Tell a man he can fight in court, and nine times out of ten he’ll disappear just to avoid the tediousness.
There are people in our lives who fill up our whole attention, but they’re still only temporary. And there are others who settle into our hearts and minds comfortably and never leave.
Hope, Jyn had found, was by far the most dangerous thing in a prison. It made people do stupid things. It made them believe there was life outside the walls. And furthermore, hope hurt.
I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered.
Her eyes met his, and her smile was brighter than any star. And it was just for him.
Sir, it appears the Ewoks have discovered that you intend to have a celebration? Without them?