Quotes from Malice

John Gwynne ·  672 pages

Rating: (9.6K votes)


“I shall stay and tell my tale, hope that it may serve some purpose, that eyes shall see it and learn, that the future will not repeat the mistakes of the past. That is my prayer, but what use is prayer to a god that has abandoned all things . . .”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice


“Come, boy, it is time for a lesson. Let me teach you the power of words,”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice


“Storm. I shall call her Storm.”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice


“The mountains were gone, replaced by a lush green vale. A river flowed out of the mountains, twisting in great curves through the vale until it”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice


“Both the brave man and the coward feel the same. The only difference between them is that the brave man faces his fear, does not run.”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice



“You can tell much about a man by the company he keeps, by his friends, and his enemies,”
― John Gwynne, quote from Malice


About the author

John Gwynne
Born place: in The United Kingdom
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― Meredith Wild, quote from Hard Limit


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“Mas don Rigoberto sabia que não havia outro remédio, tinha que se resignar e esperar. Provavelmente as únicas brigas do casal ao longo de todos os anos que estavam juntos foram causadas pelos atrasos de Lucrecia sempre que iam sair, para onde fosse, um cinema, um jantar, uma exposição, fazer compras, uma operação bancária, uma viagem. No começo, quando começaram a morar juntos, recém-casados, ele pensava que sua mulher demorava por mera inapetência e desprezo pela pontualidade. Tiveram discussões, desavenças, brigas por causa disso. Pouco a pouco, do Rigoberto, observando-a, refletindo, entendeu que esses atrasos da esposa na hora de sair para qualquer compromisso não eram uma coisa superficial, um desleixo de mulher orgulhosa. Obedeciam a algo mais profundo, um estado ontológico da alma, porque, sem que ela tivesse consciência do que lhe ocorria, toda vez que precisava sair de algum lugar, da sua própria casa, a de uma amiga que estava visitando, o restaurante onde acabara de jantar, era dominada por uma inquietação recôndita, uma insegurança, um medo obscuro, primitivo, de ter que ir embora, sair dali, mudar de lugar, e então inventava todo tipo de pretextos - pegar um lenço, trocar a bolsa, procurar as chaves, verificar se as janelas estavam bem fechadas, a televisão desligada, se o fogão não estava acesso ou o telefone fora do gancho -, qualquer coisa que atrasasse por alguns minutos ou segundos a pavorosa ação de partir.
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