“Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?”
“Touchstone watched, suddenly conscious that he probably only had five seconds left to be alone with Sabriel, to say something, to say anything. Perhaps the last five seconds they ever would have alone together.
I am not afraid, he said to himself.
"I love you," he whispered. "I hope you don't mind.”
“Five Great Charters knit the land
Together linked, hand in hand
One in the people who wear the crown
Two in the folk who keep the Dead down
Three and Five became stone and mortar
Four sees all in frozen water.”
“Fear and realisation of ignorance, strong medicines against stupid pride.”
“Let this be my final lesson. Everyone and everything has a time to die.”
“I love you," he whispered. "I hope you don't mind.”
“A Kiss," said Mogget sleepily. "Actually, just a breath would do. But you have to start kissing someone sometime, I suppose."
"A breath?" she asked. She didn't want to kiss just any wooden man. He looked nice enough, but he might not be like his looks. A kiss seemed too forward.”
“Do not tarry, do not stop, no matter what happens.”
“I can see time," whispered Mogget, so softly that his words were lost.”
“Ranna," she said aloud, touching the first, the smallest bell. Ranna the sleepbringer, the sweet, low sound that brought silence in its wake.
"Mosrael." The second bell, a harsh, rowdy bell. Mosrael was the waker, the bell Sabriel should never use, the bell whose sound was a seesaw, throwing the ringer further into Death, as it brought the listener into Life.
"Kibeth." Kibeth, the walker. A bell of several sounds, a difficult and contrary bell. It could give freedom of movement to one of the Dead, or walk them through the next gate. Many a necromancer had stumbled with Kibeth and walked where they would not.
"Dyrim." A musical bell, of clear and pretty tone. Dyrim was the voice that the Dead so often lost. But Dyrim could also still a tongue that moved too freely.
"Belgaer." Another tricksome bell, that sought to ring of its own accord. Belgaer was the thinking bell, the bell most necromancers scorned to use. It could restore independent thought, memory and all the patterns of a living person. Or, slipping in a careless hand, erase them.
"Saraneth." The deepest, lowest bell. The sound of strength. Saraneth was the binder, the bell that shackled the Dead to the wielder's will. And last, the largest bell, the one Sabriel's cold fingers found colder still, even in the leather case that kept it silent.
"Astarael, the Sorrowful," whispered Sabriel. Astarael was the banisher, the final bell. Properly rung, it cast everyone who heard it far into Death. Everyone, including the ringer.”
“I am Abhorsen..."
He looked at the baby again and added, almost with a note of surprise, "Father of Sabriel”
“A hundred hundred heartbeats..." whispered Sabriel, tears falling down her face.”
“Our parts now -- which perforce we must play -- are not father and daughter, but one old Abhorsen, making way for the new. But behind this, there is always my love.”
“I used to think like that at school," Sabriel answered. "Dreaming about the Old Kingdom. Proper Charter Magic. Dead to bind. Princes to be --"
“He growled and grimaced as they came to him, and clenched his fists in pain and anger.
"Unusual name," commented Mogget. "More of a bear's name, that growl.”
“Prepare a crossing party," snapped Horyse. "A single person to cross. Miss Abhorsen, here. And Sergeant, if you or Private Rahise so much as talk in your sleep about what you may have heard here, then you'll be on gravedigging fatigues for the rest of your lives!”
“The Clayr saw me, the Wallmaker made me, the King quenched me, the Abhorsen wields me so that no Dead shall walk in Life. For this is not their path.”
“Garth on naming characters "I spend lots of time on all the names in the books... Sabriel herself, I tried many different combinations of different words, trying to create a new name. In fact, her name comes from trying to combine the heraldic term for black which is Sable, because I wanted something that felt dark and mysterious, with the "iel" ending that you find in angels' names.”
“A breath?" she asked. She didn't want to kiss just any wooden man. He looked nice enough, but he might not be like his looks. A kiss seemed very forward. He might remember it, and make assumptions.”
“Going through the arch, from mud into snow, from bright sun into the pallid luminescence of a snowfall, from her past into her future.”
“Volí si stezku chodec, nebo stezka chodce?”
“A zlo plodí zlo, zlo zamořuje místa a přitahuje k nim další zlé skutky...”
“Millennia of servitude, Abhorsen. Chained by trickery, treachery... captivenin a repulsive, fixed-flesh shape...but there will be payment, slow payment —not quick, not quick at all!”
“Everything moved rapidly after the tea was drunk.”
“Garth on where Sabriel came from "Sabriel grew very much out of the story... Sometimes people ask me, 'Why did you write a strong young woman character?' I just thought she was more interesting than if she was a young man.”
“Fear and realization of ignorance were strong medicines against stupid pride.”
“Both of them often turned to gaze at Sabriel.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“What were you thinking?" Fen snarled at her. "It could've killed you. I thought you had given me the dangerous one."
Laurie flashed her cousin a grin. "I did. I just gave me an equally dangerous one.”
“I don't know,' I cried without being heard, 'I do not know, If nobody comes, then nobody comes. I've done nobody any harm, nobody's done me any harm, but nobody will help me. A pack of nobodies. Yet that isn't all true. Only, that nobody helps me - a pack of nobodies would be rather fine, on the other hand. I'd love to go on an excursion - why not? - with a pack of nobodies. Into the mountains, of course, where else? How these nobodies jostle each other, all these lifted arms linked together, these numberless feet treading so close! Of course they are all in dress suits. We go so gaily, the wind blows through us and the gaps in our company. Our throats swell and are free in the mountains! It's a wonder that we don't burst into song.”
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.”
“For ages anthropologists lumped all African peoples into one ‘race,’ but the genetic truth is that the larger world’s diversity is more or less a subset of African diversity.”
“The rate of progress is so rapid that what one learns at school or university is always a bit out of date. Only a few people can keep up with the rapidly advancing frontier of knowledge, and they have to devote their whole time to it and specialize in a small area. The rest of the population has little idea of the advances that are being made
or the excitement they are generating.”
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