“I have seen what comes of being patient," Amanda said with a boding look. "And I have no opinion of it."
"What does come of it?" Inquired Sir Gareth.
"Nothing!”
“After eyeing her for a moment or two, he said: ‘If you let this chance of achieving a respectable alliance slip, you are a bigger fool than I take you for, Hester!’ Her eyes came round to his face, a smile quivered for an instant on her lips. ‘No, how could that be, Papa?”
“But perhaps I might feel strange, and unlike myself. It wouldn't be comfortable, not to be acquainted with myself.”
“I too have been badly deceived in myself," he said, shaking his head. "Would you believe it?—I had no notion that I was such a monster of inhumanity as I have proved myself to be”
“The sight which met her eyes held her frozen on the threshold, and the thought flashed across her mind that she knew now how it felt to die”
“When I think of all the pretty and lovely girls who have done their best to attach him, and he tells me that he has offered for an insipid female who has neither fortune nor any extraordinary degree of beauty, besides being stupidly shy and dowdy, I – oh, I could go into strong hysterics!”
“So now, I look at these stories, and almost like a photograph snapped at a party, I find all manner of signs and indications of who I was. Was? Yes, was. I look at these pieces and I don't think the man who wrote them is alive in me anymore. Writing an introduction to the tenth anniversary edition of Weaveworld last year I remarked on much of the same thing: the man who'd written that book was no longer around. He'd died in me, was buried in me. We are our own graveyards; we squat amongst the tombs of the people we were. If we're healthy, every day is a celebration, a Day of the Dead, in which we give thanks for the lives that we lived, and if we're neurotic we brood and mourn and wish that the past was still present.”
“In his mind's eye, he saw his dream of a new life drifting away like a lost balloon. And for some time he sat there, hating to see it go. But then it was gone, and he began to invent a new dream, and he began to feel better.”
“TEN [exploding]. Bright! He's a common ignorant slob. He don't even speak good English!
ELEVEN [slowly]. He doesn't even speak good English.”
“Great. Just great. One glimpse of his body and I have a full-blown crush.
I honestly thought I was a bit deeper than that.”
“A team of horses cannot overtake a word that has left the mouth.”
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