“There are some things, once they are done, that we can never question, because if we did, we wouldn't be able to go on. And we have to go on, every single day.”
“Even the worst feeling, with time and familiarity, became tolerable.”
“Would you have this?” the Protectorat hissed at his son.
Rafael's gaze narrowed in a slow inspection while she stared defiantly back. Rafael's gaze faltered, shot briefly toward Leon, and then down. His answer was obvious: no.
And in spite of everything, in the face of all the other more important dangers that threatened her, it still stung that someone, some boy, found her ugly. Gaia burned with sudden hate for all of them.
The Protectorat saw. He smiled slightly.
“I thought not,” said the Protectorat, releasing her with a flick. He turned back toward his family. “I can't thrust her on any family I know, no matter what her genes are. She's a freak, not a hero. I'd rather make a hero out of Myrna Silk.”
Leon had been standing tensely throughout this exchange. “I'd take Gaia,” Leon said, his low voice resonating in the space.”
“What happened to your face?' he asked. 'When I was little, my grandmother was making candles and she had a big vat of hot beeswax in the backyard,' she said. 'I walked into the vat.' Usually that ended the conversation. 'I don't remember it,' she added. 'How old were you?' he asked. She tilted her face slightly, watching him. 'Ten months.' 'You were walking at ten months?' he asked. 'Not very well, apparently,' she said dryly.”
“When you decide something's right, there's nothing that can stop you from doing it.”
“There are many ways to be a criminal or hero. Don't forget that.”
“Be good, Gaia,” Capt. Grey told her, his voice grave. She still refused to look at him, but she could feel the heated flush of anger again in her cheeks. “Cooperate with the guards. For your own sake,” he continued.
“Be good yourself, Captain,” she said bitterly. “If you know how.”
“Though she could not see his shadowed eyes clearly, she sensed an emptiness in there that matched the controlled composure of his other features. It chilled her.”
“As she walked through the dark, stepping softly through the wet stones, she looked ahead to where the first cautious star managed to blink through the clouds.”
“She pivoted right, and sensed the vast, open space of the wasteland stretching before her under the opaque sky, a darkness as thin and final as the velvet lining of a shroud.”
“The tinkle of a wind chime stirred from over a window. Purple and white phlox cascaded cheerfully over the top of a nearby stone wall. Sunlight sifted through the weave of her straw hat, casting freckles of light on her nose and cheeks that shifted, out of focus, as she walked.”
“That was a sauna parlor, there, where I found you," the baker said. "They'll just think you were working the late shift."
Gaia was baffled. "A sauna parlor?"
She saw the baker and his wife hesitate.
The girl clarified in her open, childish voice. "He means it's a brothel."
The baked clapped a hand to his forehead.
"What?" the girl said. "It's a very discreet, high-class brothel.”
“Todos somos vulnerables, sobre todo cuando amamos a alguien.”
“She waited, unwilling to meet his eyes, hoping he would go on. When he didn't, the silence stretched between them like invisible cobwebs. In the dimmest part of her, she realized she might have wishes, too, elusive wishes that belonged more to a girl in a garden than they did to a captive.”
“You always have a choice, Gaia. You can always say no.” His voice was strangely hollow. “They might kill you for it, but you can always say no.”
“Unutma, hepimiz savunmasızız. Özellikle de birini seviyorsak.”
“Nothing was right with her parents gone, no matter how much she'd tried to go on without them.”
“You know what? You re pretty good at pushing people away from you. Did you know that? Maybe that's why you had only one friend growing up.”
“Once I'm gone, be careful who you trust. Use your wits, Gaia," the woman said. "Remember we're all vulnerable. Especially if we love someone."
"You've got that wrong," Gaia said, thinking of her parents.
"It's love that makes us strong.”
“Thus the Government of our Virtue was broken and I exchang'd the Place of Friend for that unmusical harsh-sounding Title of Whore.”
“I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.”
“Fifteen!" Dess's distant cry reached him. "Where the hell are you, Rex? Ten. You're-an-idiot-nine, get-back-here-eight, you-dimwit-seven...”
“With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; with one eye on the future, one on the bride, and an arch expression in her face, partly spiritual, partly spirituous, and wholly professional and peculiar to her art; Mrs Gamp rummaged in her pocket again [...]”
“It's the work that's important, not the individual who does it.”
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