Tahereh Mafi · 1327 pages
Rating: (1.6K votes)
“Adam has to work to defend himself against me and I’m exhausting him. I’m making him sick and I’m weakening his body and if he ever slips again. If he ever forgets. If he ever makes a mistake or loses focus or becomes too aware of the fact that he’s using his gift to control what I might do—”
“The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do.”
“In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction. They”
“...kiedy postanowiłam stanąć na Księżycu, wziąłeś mnie za rękę, przytuliłeś i pomogłeś mi wzbić się w niebo”
“jestem echem tego, co było kiedyś”
“tylko krople deszczu przypominają mi, że chmury mają bijące serca”
“zamykam świat. na klucz. przekręcam klucz do oporu.”
“zaciskam powieki, chciałabym móc je zaszyć”
“obiecuję historię z milionem szczęśliwych przymiotników”
“chciałabym napełnić usta deszczem, napakować śniegu do kieszeni, chciałabym obrysować palcem żyłki w liściu, który spadł z drzewa i poczuć na nosie smagnięcia wiatru”
“stałam się szeptem, którego nigdy nie było”
“każdy centymetr mojego ciała oblewa się rumieńcem”
“spędzałam życie wsunięta między kartki książek”
“moje serce zamienia się w parę skrzydeł trzepoczących w przełyku”
“obejmuje palcami jego wyobrażenie w swojej dłoni i zasypiam”
“czuję tylko dmuchawce, które spełniają życzenia w moich płucach”
“The first of many autumn rains smelled smoky, like a doused campsite fire, as if the ground itself had been aflame during those hot summer months. It smelled like burnt piles of collected leaves, the cough of a newly revived chimney, roasted chestnuts, the scent of a man's hands after hours spent in a wood shop.”
“Women are the bloodthirsty sex," said Ric sadly. "We get the reputation, but it is only because the women stand behind us, and say, 'Kill it. Squish it.”
“After all, is not a real Hell better than a manufactured Heaven?”
“She felt as if she knew the stars, and had been among them, or would be.”
“The boy admonished himself for wanting everything to be a story. And now realized that some journeys were not stories. On some journeys, nothing really happened. You just kept taking steps.”
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