“I order you not to die,” Tsunami said, grabbing his shoulder. “Clay, stop, STOP IT. Stop dying RIGHT NOW.” Her normally bossy voice was full of panic.”
“Sunny, by all the moons, quit feeling sorry for dragons who want to abduct you and sell you off.”
“Something is coming to shake the earth. Something is coming to scorch the ground. Jade Mountain will fall beneath thunder and ice, unless the lost city of night can be found.”
“Thorn gripped her claws tighter. “Sunny. You’re my daughter.”
“Glory had her tail curled around her talons and was holding her wings in close as wave after wave of odd colors spread through her scales. Deathbringer put one wing around her, gently, and she let him.”
“As each of them voted for her, Sunny felt as though her own scales might turn pink.”
“scavengers who attacked dragons for their treasure, waving sharp little toothpick claw things called swords.”
“I’m sorry, Starflight,” she’d said, and he’d known right away what she was talking about. “I know,” he’d answered, turning his head away from her. “I just — I love you. But —” “Like a brother.” She’d hesitated, then said instead, “Not like Fatespeaker loves you.” He’d folded his wings over his face and coughed, embarrassed. “It’s all right if you love her, too,” Sunny said. “You should. She’s … she cares about you. And she’s hilarious.” He”
“It was a little unsettling how quiet the skies were. Clay”
“two legs, no wings, and holding something pointy over its head.”
“He was like the not-funny, not-adorable opposite of Clay, constantly hungry but in a pushy way instead of a sweetly embarrassed way.”
“Several RainWings stood by the water, in shades of blue and purple, holding NightWing spears.”
“Clay would be just as happy if nobody ever noticed how wonderful he is. Then he could sleep and eat and take care of us instead of fighting. Starflight”
“Tsunami was drilling RainWings in evasive maneuvers, although apparently what that actually meant was a lot of yelling things like “Pay attention!” and “Leave that toucan alone!” and “Why are you pink? Stop being pink!” and “THREE MOONS, ARE YOU EATING AGAIN?”
“I BEG YOUR PARDON,” Tsunami objected. “I can be VERY DIPLOMATIC when I WANT to be.”
“I AM GOING TO BITE THAT DRAGON’S HEAD OFF AND STUFF HIM IN A VOLCANO,” Glory roared. “Too late,” Tsunami said. “Since that’s kind of already happened. The volcano part, I mean. He’s a pile of ashes now.”
“Hey, I’m mad, too,” Tsunami said. “But —” “LET’S GO BACK AND KILL HIM AGAIN.”
“This is awesome," Tsunami said. "I'm so excited." "Going to see my very favorite dragon in all of Pyrrhia."
"Are you being Glory now?" Sunny asked. "Queen of Sarcasm?"
"I can be sarcastic, too! "She doesn't get to be queen of everything," Tsunami grumbled.”
“Let the doctors of all the schools condemn me," White Logic whispers as I ride along. "What of it? I am truth. You know it. You cannot combat me. They say I make for death. What of it? It is truth. Life lies in order to live. Life is a perpetual lie-telling process. Life is a mad dance in the domain of flux, wherein appearances in mighty tides ebb and flow, chained to the wheels of moons beyond our ken. Appearances are ghosts. Life is ghost land, where appearances change, transfuse, permeate each the other and all the others, that are, that are not, that always flicker, fade, and pass, only to come again as new appearances, as other appearances. You are such an appearance, composed of countless appearances out of the past. All an appearance can know is mirage. You know mirages of desire. These very mirages are the unthinkable and incalculable congeries of appearances that crowd in upon you and form you out of the past, and that sweep you on into dissemination into other unthinkable and incalculable congeries of appearances to people the ghost land of the future. Life is apparitional, and passes. You are an apparition. Through all the apparitions that preceded you and that compose the parts of you, you rose gibbering from the evolutionary mire, and gibbering you will pass on, interfusing, permeating the procession of apparitions that will succeed you." And of course it is all unanswerable, and as I ride along through the evening shadows I sneer at that Great Fetish which Comte called the world. And I remember what another pessimist of sentiency has uttered: "Transient are all. They, being born, must die, and, being dead, are glad to be at rest.”
“Wh-wh—“ Victoria tried to say, “What are you doing?” but the words would not come. Fear had seized her and would not let go.
I am going to die, her brain recited calmly. I am going to be stabbed until I am dead. How infuriating. I have so much left to do.”
“he smiled at her as though he had not with a single sentence blown the sane structure of her life into slithering fragments.”
“My father's hand found the door locked. His calls to my mother went unanswered. He beat with his fists and called out her name, again and again, tears burning from his eyes. By the time I had come in the front door, the cake in my arms, he had broken his way in and discovered she was dead.”
“The key is this: Meet today’s problems with today’s strength. Don’t start tackling tomorrow’s problems until tomorrow. You do not have tomorrow’s strength yet. You simply have enough for today.”
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