Trenton Lee Stewart · 470 pages
Rating: (10.4K votes)
“In the candle's flickering light, the library's thousands of books emerged from the shadows, and for a moment Nicholas could not help admiring them again. During free time he had almost never looked up from the pages he was reading, but now he saw the books anew, from without rather than from within, and was reminded of how beautiful they were simply as objects. The geometrical wonder of them all, each book on its own and all the books together, row upon row, the infinite patterns and possibilities they presented. They were truly lovely.”
“No sooner had he thought this than he realized what was anchoring his happiness. It was purpose. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew the way he thought things should be, and Mr. Harinton was proving that other people--even adults--could feel the same way. Nicholas had something to aim for now. He might not know what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew with absolute certainty how he wanted to be.”
“Nicholas Benedict did have an exceptional gift for knowing things (more exceptional, in fact, than most adults would have thought possible), and yet not even he could know that this next chapter was to be the most unusual-and most important-of his entire childhood. Indeed, the strange days that lay ahead would change him forever, though for now they had less substance than the mist through which he ran.”
“…I see that something’s are hard to do, but that you can’t live with yourself if you don’t do them. I see that the best way to help myself is to help the people I care about. The rest will sort itself out. It has to, right?”
“Mr. Harinton was real.
There were adults in the world who would actually make sacrifices for others - not just for their own families but for anyone who needed help.
Nicholas had always had the impression that families looked after one another, and he had come to understand that, on rare ocassions, children would do the same... But this was different.
What Mr. Harinton was doing certainly helped Nicolas - but it also simply felt right to Nicholas. It made him want to be exactly like Mr. Harinton himself.”
“If Nicholas Benedict truly had been able to see the future, his own would have startled him to sleep at once, for he would have seen that he was destined to do things far greater than he ever could have imagined – that wonderful and amazing people would one day be drawn to him like metal to a magnet; that together with Nicholas they would form a most unusual kind of family; and that together, during one of the world’s darkest, most dangerous hours, they would change the course of history… For now he was simply a little boy on a cot, trying to fight off sleep as he had done countless times before…”
“He knew many things now that he had not known only a short time earlier. He knew that despite all the good things happening now, John would still miss his parents, and Violet and her family would still miss her brother, and Nicholas would miss having John at the Manor, and when Viloet went away to art school, he would miss her, too.
'Nothing’s easy,' Nicholas thought, sneaking glances at his friends, who were serving themselves more pie. 'But some things help.”
“Every unfamiliar trail is an invitation,”
“No sooner had he thought this than he realized what was anchoring his happiness. It was purpose. He knew what he wanted to do.”
“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.”
“He’d been about to make a joke, but he kept it to himself.”
“Nicholas lay with his hands on his chest, thinking how hollow it felt, like an empty gourd. He had never missed having a family, though he had wanted one all his life.”
“For it is a curious fact about secret meetings that a bond almost always forms among the participants, a bond that can feel both mysterious and powerful.”
“The laces had broken and were so short that tying them was like performing surgery on an insect.”
“Shall I tell you what I’m thinking, Mrs. Ferrier?” “Heavens no, Nicholas! That would take hours, and we have only moments.”
“Nicholas looked down at his battered shoes and said nothing. He did indeed wish to be contrary—at the moment it was his most earnest wish of all—but somehow he found the presence of mind not to express this feeling. Mr. Collum was right about one thing, anyway. Adoption, in his case, was unlikely. Had he not been in orphanages all his life? He had not been a beautiful baby; he was not a beautiful boy. At the last orphanage, adoptions of any child had been rare, but Nicholas had paid close attention to the process. He had figured out the right things to say, the right way to act, when prospective parents visited. And one time he had actually come close—the young couple liked him; they even spoke about him with Mr. Cuckieu.”
“I know that every atom of life in all this universe is bound up together. I know that pebble cannot be thrown into the ocean without distrubing every drop of water in the sea. I know that every life is inextricably mixed and woven with every other life. I know that every influence, conscious and unconscious, acts and reacts on every living organism, and that no one can fix the blame.
I know that all life is a series of infinite chances, which sometimes result one way and sometimes another. I have not the infinite wisdom that can fathom it, neither has any other human brain. But I do know that in back of it is a power that made it, that power alone can tell, and if there is no power, then it is an infinite chance which man cannot solve.”
“It is in us to plant thine honour where
We please to have it grow.”
“Is he a psychopath?” “The relationship between psychopathic and serial killers is particularly interesting. All psychopaths do not become serial murderers. Lucky for us, because there are a lot of them out there. But serial murderers may possess some or many of the traits consistent with those of a psychopath. Psychopaths who commit serial murder do not value human life and are extremely callous in their interactions with their victims. This is particularly evident in sexually motivated serial killers who repeatedly target, stalk, assault, and kill without a sense of remorse. However, being a psychopath alone does not explain the motivations of a serial killer. Psychopaths are not sensitive to themes such as sympathy for their victims or remorse or guilt over their crimes. They do possess certain personality traits that can be detected, particularly their inherent narcissism, selfishness, and vanity. Psychopathy is a personality disorder manifested in people who use a mixture of charm, manipulation, intimidation, and occasionally violence to control others, in order to satisfy their own selfish needs.”
“She had given him up. That was the hard condition of his being and of all commerce between them.”
“He thrust his hands into the pool, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her cheek. He grasped at her, clawing with his fingers and pulling like his life depended on it. Finally, he managed to grab her shawl. The girl flailed out with her arm and it touched his hand.
"No! I'm not letting you go!"
Now the girl's face was above the swirling darkness. She gasped for breath, half drowned. The fear on her face sent a fresh jolt of energy through Ico. 'I've got to save her!”
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