“You're just a character in my dream."
"You wish."
"I didn't mean my love interest," she replied defensively. "You'd have better hair. You're the character I dreamed up because the rest of the dream was making me homesick."
"Maybe you're the character I dreamed up to scare myself awake."
"That's not very nice!"
"You made fun of my hair. I like it this way. Short and simple."
I don't mind short. Mine is short."
"Then what's wrong with mine?" Jason challenged.
"Maybe we should talk about something else."
"Like the guy on a horse coming to kill us?"
"It needs more style," she muttered.
"The horse?"
"Your hair."
"I forgot to bring my gel when I got eaten by a hippo.”
“A lie twice believed is self decieved”
“In short, heroism means doing the right thing regardless of the consequences.”
“Say no to death pies. Another good motto.”
“For each of us destiny is a blend of potential, circumstances, and choices.”
“What's the dog called?"Jason asked. "Feraclestinius Androbrelium Pathershin the Seventh." "No, I meant his entire name.”
“If we might be able to save this world, how can we walk away? Too many people around here have given up! Galloran said heroes sacrifice for causes; they do things that others hide from. I may not be some great hero, but I won’t hide from this. I would never live with myself.”
“A hero sacrifices for the greater good. A hero is true to his or her conscience. In short, heroism means doing the right thing regardless of the consequences.”
“You picked the right road, even though it is the most difficult. That is the essence of heroism. (p. 326)”
“Indulgence is emptiness. I have proved the limits of food and frivolity. There is no real fulfillment in meaningless rushes of pleasure. You try to conceal the emptiness with more extravagance, only to find the thrills becoming less satisfying and more fleeting. Most pleasures are best as a seasoning, not the main course. However you try to disguise it, you end up feeding without being nourished.”
“A hero sacrifices for the greater good. A hero is true to his or her conscience. In short, heroism means doing the right thing regardless of the consequences. Although any person could fit that description, very few do. Choose this day to be one of them.”
“Drake. He liked dangerous pies."
"Why did he join you?"
"Who would eat pie that could take over your life? Why risk it?"
"Focus. Why did he join you?"
"Say no to death pies. Another good motto. I'm getting a headache." p. 432”
“Most pleasures are best as a seasoning, not the main course. p. 374”
“...Why are all these masks winking?" Jason pointed around the room with his fork. The loremaster dabbed at his mouth with a frilled purple napkin. "One eye is open to all truth, the other closed to all deception.”
“So you're a librarian."
His eyes shifted back and forth.
"I prefer loremaster.”
“He recalled Galloran stating that being a hero meant doing what was right regardless of the consequences. The thought sent a thrill through him. Galloran had been in this same situation and had made the right choice. Jason felt less alone. Malodor had claimed that his opponents had no heroes among them. But Galloran was proof to the contrary. And Jason would be evidence as well. p. 420”
“I, Galloran, master of this castle, rightful heir to the throne at Trensicourt, dub thee Lord Jason of Caberton, herby transmitting all rights and priveleges befitting a nobleman of rank and title."
Jason arose, moved by the simple ceremony despite the Blind King's ruined castle, raspy voice, and tarnished crown.
"What about me?" Rachel asked testily.
"You can be my cook," Jason said, unable to resist.”
“You said you wanted my story? Well, I was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Except I didn’t go into the hippo, I ended up in a tree. Then I sort of wandered here.”
“Not a wall in the building lacked books. Books even occupied the space above doorways.”
“Who won the 2004 World Series?”
She shrugged, “The Yankees?”
“The Yankees? And you claim to be an American?” He enjoyed rubbing it in after her attitude about Harrisburg. “It was the Red Sox. The year they broke the curse.”
“They would probably search for him all over the zoo—the last place he’d been seen. He wondered if any evidence would implicate the hippo.”
“My father once admonished me to master the laws that govern fine writing until I could weave my words into worlds. If ever I accomplish that feat, I will sign my name to the tale.”
“I am custodian of the knowledge hoarded here.”
“Any of the nearby volumes might hold information about hippopotamus portals or contain hints about how he might get home.”
“Only two towers remained standing, one of which was so crooked and damaged it looked ready to topple at a cough from a butterfly.”
“Did you design the door?’
‘No.’
‘Who did? The Unknown Designer?”
“Is this the seedman Jasher?" The commander indicated the charred remains.
"It's his identical twin."
"We know he traveled with you until recently. Where is his amar?"
"I ate it."
"This is a foolish time for flippancy."
"I panicked. It tasted horrible. Do you have any mouthwash?”
“Tell me about your friends."
"I hardly knew them. The one who ran off with the girl is named Christopher Columbus. Tall guy. Really skinny. Green hair. Fangs. Six fingers on his left hand. About a hundred years old. Lots of wrinkles."
"I trust you are enjoying yourself." the commander sneered.”
“At the far end of the room, upon a moldering dais, a shabby man sat upon a battered thrown. A dingy rag bound his eyes, a tarnished crown rested upon his grey hair, and a grimy green robe edged in dirty white fur enshrouded his body. He looked like some homeless guy playing the part of a wise man in a soup kitchen Christmas pageant.”
“One eye is open to all truth, the other closed to all deception.”
“Jakiś dystyngowany lęk, że swymi pytaniami sprowokował zbyt wielką poufałość i dowie się czegoś, co go nic nie obchodzi, krzyżowała się w nim z już rozbudzoną ciekawością i uwagą, z pragnieniem, by się z tych ust dowiedzieć czegoś więcej.”
“It doesn’t bother you that your canine brethren are being paraded around show rings like slaves?”
“My canine brethren?” I said. “I don’thave any canine brethren.”
“How can you say that! You’re a werewolf.”
“That’s right. I’m a werewolf, not a poodle. What makes you think I have any kinship with dogs?”
“You called me Alec just now,’ Guthrie said. ‘If I have dispensation to do the same, let me say it. Francis Crawford, I wish you away from this country; and if I had the hearing of a friend, and not that of the Voevoda Bolshoia, I would tell you never to come back.’
Abandoned by artifice, Lymond’s face exposed, for an instant, his astonishment. ‘Of course you may speak,’ he said. ‘At this moment … but why? I cannot see why?’
‘I know you cannot see why,’ said Alec Guthrie. ‘You saw it when you fought Graham Malett. You saw it in France and in Malta. You saw it clearest of all at home among your own people.’
Lymond said sharply, ‘That will do.”
“I treated despair in terms of hierarchy: if there was a more important pain in the world, it meant my own was negated. I thought I simply had to accept the fact that I was ugly, and that to feel despair about it was simply wrong.”
“He doesn’t pretend,” the punk pixie said. He nodded toward Doyle. “Nice rings. You got anything else pierced?”
“Yes,” Doyle said.
The boy smiled, making the rings in the edge of his nose and his bottom lip curl cheerfully with it. “Me too,” he said.”
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