“Kill me. If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me.”
“Minho looked at Thomas, a serious expression on his face. "If I don't see you on the other side," he said in a sappy voice, "remember that I love you.”
“Awww," Minho said. "That's almost as sweet as that time she slammed the end of a spear into your shuck face.”
“KILL ME!" And then Newt's eyes cleared, as if he'd gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. "Please, Tommy. Please."
With his heart falling into a black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.”
“Dude, you tried to slice my you-know-what's off!"
Thomas laughed, something that he hadn't done in a long time. He welcomed it happily. "Too bad I didn't. Could've saved the world from future little Minhos.”
“Sometimes they do things to make me do the opposite of what they think, I think, they think, I am going to do.”
“I don't think there is a right or wrong anymore. Only horrible and not-quite-so-horrible.”
“Thank you for being my friends”
“He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and ripped it open, then took out the slip of paper. The soft lights that ringed the mirror lit up the message in a warm glow. It was two short sentences:
" KILL ME. IF YOU'VE EVER BEEN MY FRIEND, KILL ME. ”
“So let's say our bloody goodbyes, and then you can promise to remember me from my good old days.
"I can't do that," Minho said.”
“And you, Tommy” the boy said, lowering his voice. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick”
“Thomas: Is it [my brain] fixed?
Brenda: It worked, judging from the fact that you're not trying to kill us anymore...”
“What was the point of even having a conversation when words couldn't be trusted?”
“Next time I'll pat you on the freaking back for stating the obvious.”
“Tomorrow," Minho added. "Somehow, some way.”
“I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all … your … fault!”
“You're either the bravest kid I've ever met or plain crazy.”
“I watched as that kid died. In his last few seconds there was pure terror in his eyes. You can't do that. You can't do that to a person. I don't care what anybody tells me, I don't care how many people go crazy and die, I don't care if the whole shuck human race ends. Even if that was the only thing that had to happen to find the cure, I'd still be against it.”
“I'd love to see that rat nose smashed!”
“We'll start firing till they drop or we drop.”
“.... Just don't plan on hugs every time I see you."
"The feeling's mutual.”
“I ought to come up there and break your shuck nose.”
“You’ve seen what I can do,” Thomas replied, trying to sound as dangerous as he felt. “You’ve watched me in the Maze and the Scorch.” He almost wanted to laugh at the irony. They had made him into a killer … to save people?”
“Fear of the unknown no longer controlled him. Hope had found its way in and taken hold.”
“Minho looked at Thomas, a serious expression on his face, "if I don't see you on the other side," he said in a sappy voice, "remember that I love you." Snickering at Thomas's eye roll, he went through the doors and they closed.”
“Vince couldn't stop talking, spilling thoughts that had obviously churned inside him for years. "We could've stopped the spread of the disease a lot better than we've been able to cure the disease... Thought the magical cure would save them in the end. But if we wait any longer we'll run out of people to save.”
“Whoa," Thomas said, feeling bolder by the minute. "Slim it nice and calm there, old fella. You look three steps away from a heart attack.”
“You're going to shoot me? Old pal?”
“«Benissimo. Il tuo peccato è la lussuria, Anita, cioè lo stesso del tuo master e di tutti i suoi vampiri.» Scossi la testa, sentendo un sorriso sgradevole incurvarmi le labbra. Lo stesso sorriso che lascia freddi i miei occhi e di solito significa che sono davvero incazzata. «No, non è questo il mio peccato. Non è quello più vicino e più caro al mio cuore.» «E qual è allora il tuo peccato?» «L'ira, Malcom. L'ira.»”
“No one else seemed to feel this kind of passionate attachment to other humans. Not to a newchild, not to a spouse, or a coworker, or friend. She had not felt it toward her own parents or brother. But now, toward this wobbly, drooling toddler—”
“And did anyone here bring me food? I'm famished."
[Gregor's] fingers found a stray fortune cookie from the night before and he pulled it out. "Here," he said.
Ripred reacted with exaggerated amazement. "Oh, heavens, is this whole thing for me?"
"Look, I didn't even know --" Gregor began.
"No, please. Don't apologize." Ripred's tongue darted out and flicked the cookie into his mouth. "Oh, yes, oh, my word," he raved as he chewed and swallowed. "I'm absolutely stuffed!”
“He had lived without her before. He could get over it! In a year or so he'd be able to walk straight past her without his heart so much as missing a beat. He needed her as much as a drunk needs a cork! But he understood all too quickly how vain these thoughts were. How can you tear something out of your heart? Your heart isn't made out of paper and your life isn't written down in ink. You can't erase the imprint of years.”
“That was how history worked, wasn't it? If it wasn't written down it never existed. You might leave behind jewelry and pottery, ornamental tombs, you might leave behind your own bones to be dug up at a later age, but none of those artifacts could express how you felt.”
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