“Nothing in this world is stronger than love. It should always be enough. No matter what.”
“I laughed. "Oh, I like this little guy. If we can't let him go, can I keep him?"
"Uh, no"
"I shall name him Herbert," I announced, ignoring Dez. "Do you like the name, little puke-wedgie?”
“I’ve missed you, Jas. You have no idea,” he continued, reaching toward me again but stopping short of touching me. “I thought about you every damn day. All I wanted was to get back to you and the clan. But mostly you. Always you.”
“For thousands of years, my kind had been thought of as nothing more than the stone sculptures perched upon the rooftops of homes and churches. Aka gargoyles. And technically, that’s what we were – but the depiction of a gargoyle was vastly exaggerated. Even the ugliest of all Wardens didn’t have a bulbous nose or fangs jutting from his mouth. It was rather insulting when you thought about it.”
“I wasn’t naïve enough to believe in soul mates or any of that childish nonsense that I had once clung to, but there had always been something tangible between Dez and me, even after his absence, it was still there, stronger than before.”
“But when your father announced his intentions for us, I knew I had to purge myself of the rage, because loving you... loving you was bittersweet," he whispered against my lips. "Because I knew if I didn't do this, if I didn't get all the hatred out of me, I would never be the mate you deserved.”
“My first kiss...and it was everything I’d imagined it to be, with the exception of there being an audience for it. But it was hard to acknowledge them or their cheering and whistles. Flames scorched my already heated skin. Dez’s lips moved against mine, working the tight seam open. I gasped, wondering where in the world he’d learned to kiss like that. Jealousy flared like a beacon on the heels of that thought. Okay. I didn’t want to know how he’d learned.”
“I had loved him since the moment he’d taken the pudding from me. When my father had announced on Dez’s eighteenth birthday that he supported a match between us, I’d never been happier than I was in that moment. I was young. And stupid. When Dez had disappeared the very next day, I experienced a heartache that I thought would swallow me whole and never spit me out. He’d been more than a crush. He had been my best friend, my confidant and my world.”
“I was not happy. I was knee deep in freak out mode.”
“And I'm just saying that by the end of these seven days or maybe a week from then, or a month, you'll say yes." He cupped my cheek and leaned inm pressing his forehead to mine. "And I'll be waiting. No matter how long it takes.”
“Maybe at the end of these seven days, you'll still say no. That doesn't mean it's over. Im in this for the long haul.”
“Nothing in this world is stronger than love. It should always be enough, no matter what.”
“I want you, and I know you feel the same way. Neither of us could’ve changed that much. I believe in that. And I want you.”
“I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
“words or the lack thereof had been our problem all along. Either we weren’t telling each other what was really going on or we were saying all the wrong things. Words sucked sometimes.”
“Niente a questo mondo è più forte dell’amore. Dovrebbe essere sempre l’unica cosa che conta, a tutti i costi.”
“Thoughts of being obliterated were a moo killer.”
“Las personas con las almas más puras son capaces de las maldades más grandes. Nadie es perfecto, sin importar lo que sean o por qué bando luchen.”
“Words," he said, "is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life.”
“Who are you?" the woman said at last.
"Lyra Silver—"
"No, where d'you come from? What are you? How do you know things like this?" Wearily Lyra sighed; she had forgotten how roundabout Scholars could be. It was difficult to tell them the truth when a lie would have been so much easier for them to understand.”
“I don't say he's a great man. Willie Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He's not the finest character that ever lived. But he's a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He's not to be allowed to fall in his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally be paid to such a person.”
“I wish someone had just told me the truth right up front, as soon as I was old enough to understand it. I wish someone had just said: “Here’s the deal, Wade. You’re something called a ‘human being.’ That’s a really smart kind of animal. Like every other animal on this planet, we’re descended from a single-celled organism that lived millions of years ago. This happened by a process called evolution, and you’ll learn more about it But trust me, that’s really how we all got here. There’s proof of it everywhere, buried in the rocks. That story you heard? About how we were all created by a super-powerful dude named God who lives up in the sky? Total bullshit. The whole God thing is actually an ancient fairy tale that people have been telling one another for thousands of years. We made it all up. Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. “Oh, and by the way … there’s no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny. Also bullshit. Sorry, kid Deal with it.”
“As I approached my fiftieth birthday, I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.
Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tis-sues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales.
And so on.Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All facts would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done. If all writers would do that, then perhaps citizens not in the literary trades will understand that there is no order in the world around us, that we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead. It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done. I am living proof of that: It can be done.”
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