The Raven

Beauty is vain. It appears and, like the wind, it's gone. Remember that.

I didn't know what darkness was until I lost you.

A bird in a cage is never as beautiful as a bird that is free [...].

If he’s foolish enough to think beauty is in the skin and not the heart, then I hope he dies quickly and rids the world of his stupidity.

You are my greatest virtue and my deepest vice.

I am the darkness made visible.

I am about to bring you into the underworld, Persephone. Can you be brave?

He Looked down at her gravely. "In many ways, we are the most perfect match. We see each other as we are, but neither of us views the other as broken.

[...] I think no one—human or otherwise—is perfect. If perfection is the standard for normalcy, we all fail.

Oh, Psyche. “‘Fortune doth menace unto thee imminent danger, wherof I wish thee greatly to beware. . . . thou shalt purchase to mee great sorrow, and to thyself utter destruction. . . . Beware that ye covet not . . . to see the shape of my person, lest by your curiosity you deprive your selfe of so great and worthy estate.

Noah released the raven and the raven returned. If I were able to hope, I’d hope you would return to me.

Beauty is vain. It appears and like the wind, it's gone

I didn’t know what darkness was until I lost you

Beauty is vain. It appears and, like the wind, it's gone

He’s Zephyr, hovering in the shadows. He took pity on Psyche and helped her and then he disappeared.

I am the monster, hiding in the darkness, the intruder had whispered.

You are the only ray of hope I’ve seen since 1274. You’re the only one who has caused my heart to beat again.

love isn’t secretive or one-sided.” “It isn’t,” he said fiercely. “Then tell me.” He kissed her forehead. “Je t’aim.

Without guilt or remorse, shame was an empty emotion. Indeed, shame would not be shame.

Cassita vulneratus. Raven awoke with a start.

Noah released the raven and the raven returned. If I were able to hope, I’d hope you would return to me. Good night, Cassita.

Ignorance,” he rejoined, sounding cross. “You modern people live in your own version of the Dark Ages, dismissing anything you can’t understand. If the relic didn’t stop him, what the hell did?

I’m afraid that trouble is not what you do. Trouble is what you are.

In other words, Botticelli's ideal women look like women and not boys. They're soft and curvaceous. Healthy and rounded. Women of the size figured in this painting were considered beautiful for centuries, if not millennia. They were the aesthetic ideal during my lifetime and long after." He brought his mouth to her neck before whispering, "My ideal hasn't changed.

No one deserves mercy. Not deserving it is what makes it mercy.

Forgive me.” He cupped her cheek. “I came to you tonight because I couldn’t allow the light of my life to be extinguished without seeing you one last time.” “Then

You are my greatest virtue and my deepest vice.” He leaned forward and pressed their lips together.