“The sun doesn't just hang on one family's tree”
“I was happy not to be in his place. He could command my death, but not his. But then, what kind of power was his? He was a prisoner of himself.”
“Prezirem ljude koji se svijaju kako vjetar puše.”
“Like a singing river
You break out to flow freely
I am the mountain behind
Happily I watch you
Memory of us
Full and sweet”
“Mother once told me that one had to lower one's head when passing under low eaves in order to avoid injury.”
“Vjetar pokazuje svoje tijelo kroz drhtavo lišće.”
“Zabranjeni grad je pjesma u svojem najčistijem obliku. On je moj duhovni vrt gdje mogu leći među cvijeće i otpočinuti.”
“The sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.”
“If bad were a boot, you'd fit it!”
“In the midst of life, we are in death.”
“Even the Vatican, probably the second most active center of cryptanalysis, would send Soro seemingly impenetrable messages that had fallen into its hands. In 1526, Pope Clement VII sent him two encrypted messages, and both were returned having been successfully cryptanalyzed.”
“Do you know what the best thing about getting my sight back will be?” he asked softly.
“No,” she replied, all of the bravado gone from her voice.
Straightening, he took one step toward her, then another. She refused to give ground until he was almost
on top of her. Feeling the air shift as she retreated, he clumsily flanked her until their positions were
reversed and she was the one backing toward the door. “Some might believe it would be the joy of
watching the sun dip below a lavender horizon at the end of a perfect summer day.”
When he heard her back come up against the door, he splayed one palm against the thick mahogany
behind her. “Others might judge it to be perusing the velvety petals of a ruby red rose…”—leaning
forward until he felt the warm tickle of her breath against his face, he deepened his voice to a smoky
caress—“or gazing tenderly into the eyes of a beautiful woman. But I can promise you, Miss Wickersham, that all of those pleasures will pale in comparison to the sheer unmitigated joy of being rid
of you.”
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