“-¿Hay algo que no sepas hacer?
-¡No! Puedes tomarme tranquilamente por un Dios.”
“—Deberíamos recoger nuestras cosas —dijo Gideon finalmente—. Y deberías hacer algo urgente con tus cabellos; parece como si algún idiota se hubiera puesto a revolver en ellos con las dos manos y luego te hubiera tirado sobre un sofá… Sea quien sea el que nos espere sabrá que dos y dos son cuatro… Oh, por Dios, no me mires así.
—¿Cómo?
—Como si ya no pudieras moverte.
—Es que no puedo —dije en serio—. Soy un pudin. Me has transformado en un pudin.”
“Time ain’t nothing, but time. It’s a verse with no rhyme,
And it all come down to you.
«El tiempo solo es tiempo. Es un verso sin rima, y todo depende de ti.»”
“—Yo también preferiría besarte todo el tiempo en lugar de despreciarte —dijo al cabo de un momento—. Pero de algún modo tú tampoco lo pones fácil. -Gideon”
“It’s funny, but I was just thinking I wouldn’t mind a repeat of that boring evening when we elapsed to 1953,” said Gideon. “Just you and me and Cousin Sofa.”
“True love knows no constraints, no locks or bars.
Past every obstacle it makes its way.
It spreads it wings to soar toward the stars,
No earthly power will make it stop or stay.”
“Good,” said Gideon. “It means the effect of the alcohol is wearing off. One question, by the way: what did you want a hairbrush for?”
“I wanted it as a substitute for a mike,” I murmured through my fingers. “Oh, my God! I’m so horrible.”
“But you have a pretty voice,” said Gideon. “Even I liked it, and I told you I hate musicals.”
“Then how come you can play songs from them so well?” I put my hands in my lap and looked at him. “You were amazing! Is there anything you can’t do?” Good heavens, I heard myself sounding like a groupie.
“No. Go ahead, you’re welcome to think me some kind of god!” He was grinning now. “It’s rather sweet of you!”
“I only wanted to . . . I mean, just now, when Mr. George interrupted us, there was something very important I wanted to say to you.”
“It is about what I told you in the church yesterday? I mean, I can understand that you may think me crazy because I see these beings, but a psychiatrist wouldn’t make any difference.”
Gideon frowned. “Just keep quiet for a moment, would you? I have to pluck up all my courage to make you a declaration of love . . . I’ve had absolutely no practice in this kind of thing.”
“What?”
“Gwyneth,” he said, perfectly seriously, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
My stomach muscles contracted as if I’d had a shock. But it was joy. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” In the light of the torch I saw Gideon smile. “I do realize we’ve known each other for less than a week, and at first I thought you were rather . . . childish, and I probably behaved badly to you. But you’re terribly complicated, I never know what you’ll do next, and in some ways you really are terrifyingly . . . er. . . naïve. Sometimes I just want to shake you.”
“Okay, I can see you were right about having no practice in making declarations of love,” I agreed.
“But then you’re so amusing, and clever, and amazingly sweet,” Gideon went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “And the worst of it is, you only have to be in the same room and I need to touch you and kiss you . . .”
“Yes, that’s really too bad,” I whispered, and my heart turned over as Gideon took the hatpin out of my hair, tossed the feathered monstrosity into the air to fall on the floor, draw me close, and kissed me. About three minutes later, I was leaning against the wall, totally breathless, making an effort to stay upright.
“Hey, Gwyneth, try breathing in and out in the normal way,” said Gideon, amused.
I gave him a little push. “Stop that! I can’t believe how conceited you are!”
“Sorry. It’s just such a . . . a heady feeling to think you’d forget to breathe on my account.”
“¿No tendrás un cepillo para el pelo? Es que canto mejor cuando tengo uno en la mano.
Gideon parecía un poco desesperado.”
“Amor no conoce ningún freno;
para él no existen puertas ni cerrojos
ni poder que limite sus antojos.
Amor no conoce principio ni fin.
Agitó siempre sus alas al viento
y así lo hará hasta el fin de los tiempos.”
“I see,” I said, which was not entirely true. But it did seem to explain a bit of what I’d recently seen and heard. “Er . . . at this moment, are you kissing me?”
“No, only almost,” murmured Gideon, with his lips just above my skin. “I mean, no way do I want to exploit the fact that you’re drunk and may be mistaking me for some kind of god right now. But it doesn’t come easy . . .”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his shoulder, and he held me closer.
“Like I said, you really don’t make things easy for me. You always give me the wrong sort of ideas in churches . . .”
“The raven red, on ruby pinions winging its way between the worlds, hears dead men singing. It scarce knows it strength, the price it scarce knows, but its power will arise and the Circle will close.”
“Nick demonstrated twenty-three ways of communicating without words by fanning himself with a napkin. "This one means oops, your fly is open, sir, and if you lower the fan a little and look at someone over the top of it, it means wow, I'd like to marry you. But if you do it the other way around, it means ha ha, we are now at war with Spain.”
“Charlotte: Giordano is terribly afraid Gwyneth will get everything wrong tomorrow that she can get wrong.
Gideon: Pass the olive oil, please.
Charlotte: Politics and history are a closed book to Gwyneth. She can’t even remember names—they go in at one ear and straight out of the other. She can’t help it, her brain doesn’t have the capacity. It’s stuffed with the names of boy bands and long, long cast lists of actors in soppy romantic films.
Raphael: Gwyneth is your time-traveling cousin, right? I saw her yesterday in school. Isn’t she the one with long dark hair and blue eyes?
Charlotte: Yes, and that birthmark on her temple, the one that looks like a little banana.
Gideon: Like a little crescent moon.
Raphael: What’s that friend of hers called? The blonde with freckles? Lily?
Charlotte: Lesley Hay. Rather brighter than Gwyneth, but she’s a wonderful example of the way people get to look like their dogs. Hers is a shaggy golden retriever crossbreed called Bertie.
Raphael: That’s cute!
Charlotte: You like dogs?
Raphael: Especially golden retriever crossbreeds with freckles.
Charlotte: I see. Well, you can try your luck. You won’t find it particularly difficult. Lesley gets through even more boys than Gwyneth.
Gideon: Really? How many . . . er, boyfriends has Gwyneth had?
Charlotte: Oh, my God! This is kind of embarrassing. I don’t want to speak ill of her, it’s just that she’s not very discriminating. Particularly when she’s had a drink. She’s done the rounds of almost all the boys in our class and the class above us . . . I guess I lost track at some point. I’d rather not repeat what they call her.
Raphael: The school mattress?
Gideon: Pass the salt, please.”
“I can’t do it, Gideon! I can’t make out the way you kiss me one moment and then act as if you loathed me like poison the next!”
Gideon said, after a brief pause, “I’d much rather be kissing you the whole time than loathing you, but you don’t exactly make it easy for me.”
“This time we weren’t disturbed either by traveling through time or a cheeky gargoyle demon. While “Hallelujah” was running, the kiss was gentle and careful, but then Gideon buried both hands in my hair and held me very close. It wasn’t a gentle kiss anymore, and my reaction surprised me. I suddenly felt very soft and lightweight, and my arms went around Gideon’s neck of their own accord. I had no idea how, but at some point in the next few minutes, still kissing without a break, we landed on the green sofa, and we went on kissing there until Gideon abruptly sat up and looked at his watch.
“Like I said, it really is a shame I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore,” he remarked rather breathlessly. The pupils of his eyes looked huge, and his cheeks were definitely flushed.
I wondered what I looked like myself. As I’d temporarily mutated into some kind of human blancmange, there was no way I could get out of my half-lying position. And I realized, with horror, that I had no idea how much time had passed since Bon Jovi stopped singing “Hallelujah.” Ten minutes? Half an hour? Anything was possible.
Gideon looked at me, and I thought I saw something like bewilderment in his eyes.
“We’d better collect our things,” he said at last. “And you need to do something about your hair—it looks as if some idiot has been digging both hands into it and dragging you down on a sofa. Whoever’s back there waiting for us will put two and two together—oh, my God, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“As if you couldn’t move.”
“But I can’t,” I said, perfectly seriously. “I’m a blancmange. You’ve turned me into blancmange.”
A brief smile brightened Gideon’s face, and then he jumped up and began stowing my school things in my bag. “Come along, little blancmange. Stand up.”
“Everything all right, Gwyneth?” asked Gideon, raising one eyebrow. “You look nervous. Would you like a cigarette to calm your nerves? What was your favorite brand, did you say? Marlboros?”
I could only stare at him speechlessly.
“Leave her alone,” said Xemerius. “Can’t you see she’s unhappy in love, bonehead? All because of you! What are you doing here, anyway?”
“The lion-as proud as the diamond bright,
Though the spell may be clouding that radiant light-in the death of the sun what's amiss will then mend, while the raven is dying discloses the end.”
“It was Gideon who finally broke the silence, which gave me a certain satisfaction. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” The way he asked, he sounded almost embarrassed.
“What?”
“It’s what my mother always used to when I was little. If I was looking straight ahead and saying nothing, like you right at this moment.”
“You have a mother?” Only when I’d said it did I realize what a silly question it was! Oh, for heaven’s sake!
Gideon raised one eyebrow. “What did you expect?” he asked, amused. “You thought I was an android put together by Uncle Falk and Mr. George?”
“Well, it’s not such an outlandish idea. Do you have photos of yourself as a baby?” Trying to imagine a baby Gideon with a round, soft plump-cheeked face and a bald head made me grin.”
“After three glasses, Cynthia flung the windows open and announced, “Zac Efron, I love you!” to the whole of Chelsea, while Lesley was crouched head down over the lavatory bowl throwing up, Maggie had made Sarah a declaration of love (“you’re sho, sho beautiful, marry me!”), and Sarah was shedding floods of tears without knowing why. It hit me worst of all. I had jumped on Cynthia’s bed and was bawling out “Breaking Free” in an endless loop. When Cynthia’s father came into the room, I’d held Cynthia’s hairbrush up to him like a microphone and called out, “Sing alone, baldie! Get those hips swinging!” Although the next day I couldn’t even being to explain why myself.
After that embarrassing episode, Lesley and I had decided to give the demon drink a wide berth in future (we gave Cynthia’s father a wide berth as well for a couple of months), and we had stuck to that resolution.”
“....but talking to a ghost about a demon when you’re in a room full of people who can’t see either of them is not to be recommended.”
“Ex hoc momento pendet aeternites.
(Eternity hangs from this moment.)”
“Schleimer!", sagte Xemerius. "Die Rothaarigen sind immer Schleimer, findest du nicht auch?"
(....)
"Streber", sagte Xemerius. "Die Rothaarigen sind immer Streber.”
“You’re going to make your lip bleed, biting it like that,” he said.
“I’m feeling . . . kind of nervous.”
“I can see that. Would it help if I held your hand?”
I shook my head vigorously.
No, it would make things worse, you idiot! Quite apart from the fact that I’m at a total loss to understand the way you’re treating me now, anyway! Not to mention our relationship in general. What’s more, Mr. Whitman is looking at us like some kind of know-it-all squirrel!
I almost groaned aloud. Would I feel any better if I told him any of what I was thinking? I thought about doing just that for a moment, but I didn’t.”
“Der Rabe auf seinen rubinroten Schwingen
Zwischen den Welten hört Tote er singen,
Kaum kennt er die Kraft, kaum kennt er den Preis,
Die Macht erhebt sich, es schließt sich der Kreis.
Der Löwe - so stolz das diamant'ne Gesicht,
Der jähe Bann trübt das strahlende Licht,
Im Sterben der Sonne bringt er die Wende,
Des Raben Tod offenbart das Ende.”
“I gave myself a little shake. So if Gideon was carrying on as if nothing had happened—well, thanks a lot, I could do the same. “Okay, let’s get out of here,” I said brightly. “I’m cold.”
I tried to push past him, but he took hold of my arm and stopped me. “Listen, about all that just now . . .” He stopped, probably hoping I was going to interrupt him.
Which of course I wasn’t. I was only too keen to hear what he had to say. I also found breathing difficult when he was standing so close to me.
“That kiss . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Once again it was only half a sentence. But I immediately finished it in my mind.
I didn’t mean it that way.
Well, obviously, but then he shouldn’t have done it, should he? It was like setting fire to a curtain and then wondering why the whole house burned down. (Okay, silly comparison.) I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. I looked at him coolly and expectantly. That is, I tried to look at him coolly and expectantly, but I probably really had an expression on my face saying, Oh, I’m cute little Bambie, please don’t shoot me! There was nothing I could do about that. All I needed was for my lower lip to start trembling.
I didn’t mean it that way! Go on, say it!
But Gideon didn’t say anything. He took a hairpin out of my untidy hair (by now my complicated arrangement of strands must have looked as if a couple of birds had been nesting in it), took one strand, and wound it around his finger. With his other hand, he began stroking my fact, and then he bent down and kissed me again, this time very cautiously. I closed my eyes—and the same thing happened as before: my brain suffered that delicious break in transmission. (Well, all it was transmitting was oh, hmm, and more!)
But that lasted only about ten seconds, because then a voice right beside us said, irritated, “Not starting that stuff up again, are you?”
“Cuanto más inteligente sea una mujer menos tardará en establecer un compromiso con la naturaleza del hombre -Conde de Saint Germain”
“A weapon can usually be turned against you, if you don't know how to use it.”
“Unfortunately it's an incontrovertible fact that sound common sense flies out of the window as soon as love comes in through the door.”
“Passersby looked at us curiously. In the porch, Mr. Whitman held the church door open for us. “Hurry up, please,” he said. “We don’t want to attract attention.” No, sure, there was nothing likely to attract attention in two black limousines parking in North Audley Street in broad daylight so that men in suits could carry the Lost Ark out of the trunk of one of the cars, over the sidewalk, and into the church. Although from a distance the chest carrying it could have been a small coffin . . . The thought gave me goose bumps.
“I hope at least you remembered your pistol,” I whispered to Gideon.
“You have a funny idea of what goes on at a soiree,” he said, in a normal tone of voice, arranging the scarf around my shoulders. “Did anyone check what’s in your bag? We don’t want your mobile ringing in the middle of a musical performance.”
I couldn’t keep from laughing at the idea, because just then my ringtone was a croaking frog. “There won’t be anyone there who could call me except you,” I pointed out.
“And I don’t even know your number. Please may I take a look inside your bag?”
“It’s called a reticule,” I said, shrugging and handing him the little bag.
“Smelling salts, handkerchief, perfume, powder . . . excellent,” said Gideon. “All just as it should be. Come along.” He gave me the reticule back, took my hand, and led me through the church porch. Mr. Whitman bolted the door again behind us. Gideon forgot to let go of my hand once we were inside the church, which was just as well, because otherwise I’d have panicked at the last moment and run away.”
“The next thing Juliana knew, he had her braced against the back wall of the shower, one hand under her bottom, the other tangled in the back of her wet hair, holding her in place as he took her mouth with what seemed to be an urgent, desperate craving, and claimed her body in the same way. His c#ck found her soft notch, his first thick thrust so hard and deep it shoved the air up out of her lungs, her thoughts fracturing beneath the violent surge of sensation.”
“I've got the baby here," Imogene barked at the Wise Men. "Don touch him! I named him Jesus.”
“Seni gidi güvensiz kız... Biz O'malley'lerin kabuğu serttir. Yakışıklı bir yüz ve mükemmel, olağanüstü bir vücut direncimizi kıramaz.”
“People who are normal (i.e., sane, sensible) don’t try to open lines of communication with total strangers by writing them a series of disjointed, weird, cryptic messages.”
“Your life ain't a target for the world to shoot at. The world is a target for your life to shoot at.”
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