“Love was like piloting a jet through a mountain range, blind. It was freeing and exhilarating, but at the same time, at any second the person risking their life piloting that plane could crash and burn, shattering into nothing but dust - all for one glorious ride.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
“Sometimes victory is won by
surrendering something great. And in surrender, we unburden ourselves so clarity can come through.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
“All of my life I’ve had one cardinal rule: the only person I can trust is myself. I’m the only person I can count on to truly look out for me without ulterior motives. That’s what I’m doing now, looking out. I don’t need your hotel. I don’t need your damn limo to give me a ride. And I don’t need you.” He stared at her, a blank expression on his face for a long moment. Finally, he whispered, “But I need you.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
“I don’t know what hurts more,” he said. “Worrying about you or knowing you don’t worry about me.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
“realized home, for either of them, did not come in the shape of walls, but in the sense of heart. He showed her how to love and she, somehow, taught him the same.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
“And it will be a great boon to your friend. He’ll get the security he’s been searching for, the
confidence he never had, and I’ll get the rest of my life with you. Sometimes victory is won by
surrendering something great. And in surrender, we unburden ourselves so clarity can come through.
We’re all just men hiding behind curtains and impressive toys, Evelyn. He can have whatever trinket
validates his struggles, but he’ll never have your heart. That’s mine. I’ll surrender everything, except for you.”
― Lydia Michaels, quote from Coming Home
Lydia Michaels
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“Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.”
― Anne Fortier, quote from Juliet
“Tenways showed his rotten teeth. ‘Fucking make me.’
‘I’ll give it a try.’ A man came strolling out of the dark, just his sharp jaw showing in the shadows of his hood, boots crunching heedless through the corner of the fire and sending a flurry of sparks up around his legs. Very tall, very lean and he looked like he was carved out of wood. He was chewing meat from a chicken bone in one greasy hand and in the other, held loose under the crosspiece, he had the biggest sword Beck had ever seen, shoulder-high maybe from point to pommel, its sheath scuffed as a beggar’s boot but the wire on its hilt glinting with the colours of the fire-pit. He sucked the last shred of meat off his bone with a noisy slurp, and he poked at all the drawn steel with the pommel of his sword, long grip clattering against all those blades. ‘Tell me you lot weren’t working up to a fight without me. You know how much I love killing folk. I shouldn’t, but a man has to stick to what he’s good at. So how’s this for a recipe…’ He worked the bone around between finger and thumb, then flicked it at Tenways so it bounced off his chain mail coat. ‘You go back to fucking sheep and I’ll fill the graves.’
Tenways licked his bloody top lip. ‘My fight ain’t with you, Whirrun.’
And it all came together. Beck had heard songs enough about Whirrun of Bligh, and even hummed a few himself as he fought his way through the logpile. Cracknut Whirrun. How he’d been given the Father of Swords. How he’d killed his five brothers. How he’d hunted the Shimbul Wolf in the endless winter of the utmost North, held a pass against the countless Shanka with only two boys and a woman for company, bested the sorcerer Daroum-ap-Yaught in a battle of wits and bound him to a rock for the eagles. How he’d done all the tasks worthy of a hero in the valleys, and so come south to seek his destiny on the battlefield. Songs to make the blood run hot, and cold too. Might be his was the hardest name in the whole North these days, and standing right there in front of Beck, close enough to lay a hand on. Though that probably weren’t a good idea.
‘Your fight ain’t with me?’ Whirrun glanced about like he was looking for who it might be with. ‘You sure? Fights are twisty little bastards, you draw steel it’s always hard to say where they’ll lead you. You drew on Calder, but when you drew on Calder you drew on Curnden Craw, and when you drew on Craw you drew on me, and Jolly Yon Cumber, and Wonderful there, and Flood – though he’s gone for a wee, I think, and also this lad here whose name I’ve forgotten.’ Sticking his thumb over his shoulder at Beck. ‘You should’ve seen it coming. No excuse for it, a proper War Chief fumbling about in the dark like you’ve nothing in your head but shit. So my fight ain’t with you either, Brodd Tenways, but I’ll still kill you if it’s called for, and add your name to my songs, and I’ll still laugh afterwards. So?’
‘So what?’
‘So shall I draw?”
― Joe Abercrombie, quote from The Heroes
“For an instant she felt his touch on her cheek then he stepped back. There that was my ration for all eternity. People have died for less I dare say.”
― Eva Ibbotson, quote from A Countess Below Stairs
“everybody's scared, but if you don't let your fears stop you, that's bravery!”
― Leslie Feinberg, quote from Stone Butch Blues
“She’s their secret weapon! They call her Trasha, and she’s eight years old. I hear they discovered her at the Pacific Mall arcade, playing Drum-Mania. She has so much A.D.D., it’s not even funny.”
― Bryan Lee O'Malley, quote from Scott Pilgrim, Volume 1: Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life
Seventh Son
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