“We're all good until we're not strong enough to be anymore.”
“Count to three. Relax your mind. Now survive.”
“Until they rip us apart, and even then, I'll fight.”
“I swallow hard. She's right. But if something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. "Then I'll let you go," I say, and lean forward to cut the bindings. "But... you owe me something first."
'And that is?" She's still staring up at the sky.
"A kiss" I say.
Her eyes never meet mine.
"Well?" I ask.
She nods and smiles, finally throwing me a stare that's as deadly as poison "You can kiss my ass, Zephyr James.”
“So now, when three Landers, members of a street gang, approach me in the back alley behind the Library, knives drawn, the silver barrel of a gun pointed at my heart, I know I am ready.”
“I remember the one thing I have always known all along. I am not my mother’s daughter. I do not run from fear, but dive into it headfirst, the way my father taught me.”
“...he still knows how to love, and how to be soft, in a world full of hate.”
“Ela não é bonita.É diferente,rígida e intocável,como se tivesse sido esculpida em pedra.No entanto faz com que eu mantenha a minha sanidade quando mais nada resulta.É como se ela me pusesse os pés bem na terra,como a gravidade,só que com muito mais força.Ela protege-me das pessoas sem rosto que me perseguem todas as noites e a cada instante do meu dia.”
“A imagem do seu rosto,com um sorriso estranhamente imperfeito e olhos de esmeralda atormentam-me o resto do dia.”
“...seria capaz de fazer tudo por esta rapariga.Até a seguia para o Inferno se tal fosse preciso.E,conhecendo-a,é talvez para aí que nos dirigimos.”
“Inclina-se para a frente,com os olhos acesos como brasas,e põe as mãos em volta da minha cara.”
“No one has ever looked at me this way before, like I am something worth seeing”
“O sorriso nunca desaparece do rosto de Zephyr.
Quando volta a si,momentos depois,puxo-o mais para mim e esmago os meus lábios nos dele.”
“I never wanted to fix things with them.” I pause, and my voice is very quiet. “I wanted out. I screwed up.”
“I don’t know, Murph.” We make the turn into the cemetery, and he hesitates, as if unsure of his next words. “I wonder if you’re just telling yourself that.”
I frown. “What?”
“I don’t think you wanted to kill yourself.”
I pull next to his car in the now-empty employee lot. “Didn’t you listen to everything I just told you?”
“Yeah. I did. Maybe you wanted to try to kill yourself, but I don’t think you wanted to actually do it.”
“What’s the difference?”
He opens the door and gets out, standing there, looking down at me. “You wore your seat belt.”
“It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world. He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because, when you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.”
“Nevertheless, what was made in the hope of transforming the world need not be rejected because it failed to do so – otherwise, one would also have to throw out a good deal of the greatest painting and poetry of the nineteenth century. An objective political failure can still work as a model of intellectual affirmation or dissent.”
“WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WAS BORN into a world that was short of people and struggled to keep those it had. In 1564 England had a population of between three million and five million—much less than three hundred years earlier, when plague began to take a continuous, heavy”
“I mistook stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky.”
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