“But then, liars do make the best magicians, and he happened to be exceptional.”
“The only rule that counted was to not get caught.”
“But then, people usually do miss what's right in front of them.”
“She didn't have time to swoon over some boy, no matter how pretty he was.”
“She kept him on his toes every time they met, so it was only fair he got to do the same. Never mind how much he was growing to like their games.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” she asked.
“Not trying, no. Not yet, at least.” He smiled pleasantly, because he had the sense it would irritate her even more. “But give me time, and I might find something I want from you.”
She let out a derisive laugh. “In your dreams.”
He winked. “Every night, sweetheart.”
“Don’t start telling yourself stories about me, Esta. I’m not some knight in shining armor. I don’t have some hidden heart of gold. I’m a bastard, in every sense of the word.”
“Who said I want you to be anything but what you are? I like your angles and your edges,” she told him, hoping he could hear the truth in her words. “I have plenty of my own, you know.”
“Liars Make the best Magicians, and he happened to be exceptional!" taken from The Last Magician by Lisa Maxwell.”
“Esta rolled down the window, letting the hot breath of summer rustle across her face. With it came the familiar smells of the city, stale and heavy with the metallic choke of exhaust and the ripeness of too many people sharing one tiny piece of land. But it was also enticing—the scent of danger and possibility that lived and breathed in the crowded streets. Dirty and frantic though it was, the city—this city—was home. She’d never wanted to be anywhere else.”
“Standing to leave, he looked at her one last time, hating her and loving her just the same. She was yet another thing tying him to the city, his duty to her like a straitjacket holding him against his will. A locked box he couldn’t find a way out of.”
“Order, the Bowery, the city itself. It was all the same to Harte. Each one was holding him down, holding him back. He’d throw them off one by one, until he was free, or he’d die trying.”
“They were sitting on opposite sides of the board, playing each other in hopes of gaining the same prize.”
“They weren’t so different, the two of them. They’d both been abandoned by their parents, but at least she’d had the Professor. He’d seen something in her worth saving, but Harte never had that. She still might not trust him, but she understood him. The drive that made him who he was, the determination to prove himself—the bone-deep need to belong somewhere—those were all things she knew very well. She understood the hurt, too. The fear that there was something intrinsically wrong with you to make the people who were supposed to love you leave. The way that fear either hardened you or destroyed you. It had turned into a sort of armor for her, another weapon in her arsenal, and she suspected the same was true of Harte.”
“He wished . . . He didn’t know what he wished. That he hadn’t seen the intentions behind those honey-colored eyes of hers? That he hadn’t predicted her duplicity so easily? Or maybe, stupid as he was, he wished that he could stop himself from the inevitability of hurting her? But wishes were for children, and he’d grown up a long time ago. Only one of them could win this game, and it had to be him.”
“Whenever I am very happy or very sad or very embarrassed, I cram my mouth with sweets and litter the breezeway with discards.
Когда я очень счастлив, или очень огорчен, или смущен, я всегда набиваю рот сладостями и бросаю обертки где попало.”
“Once you learn to discern the voice of Mother Culture humming in the background, telling her story over and over again to the people of your culture, you’ll never stop being conscious of it. Wherever you go for the rest of your life, you’ll be tempted to say to the people around you, “how can you listen to this stuff and not recognize it for what it is?”
“All night long I dreamed of Brandy, and when I woke up in the morning, I wanted to dream some more. I wanted to wallow in every sweet and happy memory. Every kiss, every touch, every moment that I treasured. I knew I needed to forget”
“He pulled me by my shoulder. The change in angle allowed his long thick cock to reach parts of me that were never meant to be touched. My vision darkened, and every beat of my heart fought the constriction in my chest. I went beyond pleasure, into some realm where sensations worked like a creature eating me alive. All I could do was suck in air through my gaping mouth and pray I wouldn’t pass out.”
“To discourage future dark moments, I believe we must nourish the minds of our young with learning that creates understanding between ethnic and religious groups.”
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