“I have flown and fallen, and I have swum deep and drowned, but there should be more to love than "I survived it.”
“Our unguarded reactions are the most honest ones.”
“The illusion of freedom is just another sort of prison-”
“Ariel contributed nothing to the speculation, instead crossing his arms one over the other. The action recalled his butterfly familiars from the skies, and they flocked to him with eager wing beats.
"Bats!" Moth flailed at the air. "Vampire bats!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Peaseblossom said with a sniff. "Vampire bats don't sparkle.”
“Mustardseed grinned at Bertie. "I was never any good at geometry, but you’re stuck in a love triangle, aren’t you?"
"Shut up," she ordered even as Moth asked, "But what if there were four of them?"
"That’s a love rectangle, and five people would be a love pentagon."
"And what are six people in love?" Cobweb demanded.
Mustardseed thought it over a moment. "Manslaughter, I suppose.”
“Never mistake complacence for the illusion of control. She is like wildfire, at once utterly beguiling and wholly untameable.”
“If you wanted to play with fire, milady, you could have simply asked me for a kiss or three.”
“Nate handed it over the expert, and Waschbär examined it in turn, finally concluding with a low whistle. "No, not a diamond. It's a star."
"A star?" the fairies chorused.
"Yer cryin' th' stars from yer eyes." Nate's hands on the reins tightened as he added, "Fer Ariel.”
“You're missing the point! ... We could make it rain cupcakes from the sky! Raspberry-jam pies would grow on trees, and chocolate rabbits would poop chocolate buttons!”
“A cupcake temple?' Her chest still tight with anxiety, Bertie forced herself to imagine it: bricks of pound cake mortared with buttercream and chocolate ganache, torches like striped birthday candles set into the walls, pilgrims upon the Path of Delectable Righteousness delivering daily tributes of almond paste and raspberry filling. . . .”
“You must be mistaking me for someone else with silver hair.”
“Ariel looked at her then, instead of the sky, instead of the horizon that surely beckoned to him. “Out of a thousand different winds, I think I can resist nine hundred and ninety-nine of them.
Now she was the one unable to swallow. “And the last one?”
"That one wrenches the beating heart from my chest, the blood from my veins, the marrow from my bones.” Grasping her hand, he brought it up to his face and rubbed it against his cheek. Pain radiated from his pale skin, from his eyes, from his lips when they grazed her knuckles. “You’ve two birds to do your bidding, my fair huntress, but I want you to choose me, to love me above all others, to make the pain in my soul worthwhile… or I would be free of you.”
“If biscuits were stories, I'd bake a pan of piping hot fables right this second." (Bertie)”
“And what would you know of escape, precious mad thing that you are?”
“A whirlwind tour, I think, with each day starting in a different city, you wearing a different silk dress, tasting food the likes of which you cannot even imagine and learning how to weave your word-spells in all the world's languages.”
“Promise you'll stay with me as long as you want to, but not a moment longer.”
“Bertie opened the vial and drank the traded words down, tasting sour cherry syrup over shaved ice, bitter lemon peel, and spices that recalled a nameless sorrow.”
“Shh,” Cobweb said with a well-time jab of the elbow, “we might be able to get some dignity out of this, if we play our cards right.”
“Whoever has hatred toward someone is that hatred.”
“Everyone has a price, Kaylee. You just have to be willing to push until you figure out what it is.”
“Their homeopathic letters,
Envelopes full of carefully broken glass
To lodge behind your eyes so you would see”
“To enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.”
“No moral code or ethical principle, no piece of scripture or holy teaching, can be summoned to defend what we have allowed our country to become.”
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