“Because, when I was away, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Part of me said, yes, it was the right thing to do, for your sake; part of me recognized the kind of man I am, the kind of work I do, the utter impossibility of it. But the other part of me... I felt your absence like a wound.”
“That's lovely singing, Saraid," Eile said. "Is Sorry asleep now?"
Saraid shook her head solemnly. "Sorry's sad. Crying." She held the doll against her shoulder, patting its back.
"Oh. Why is she sad?"
"Sorry wants Feeler come back." It was like a punch in the gut. She had thought Saraid had forgotten him; she had assumed new friends and a safe haven would drive the memories of that long journey across country, just the three of them, from her daughter's mind. Foolish. The images of that time were still bright and fresh in her own head; she dreamed of them every night. Why should Saraid be any different just because she was small?”
“The rain accompanied Faolan as he travelled inland to the crossroads where he must at last make a choice of ways. He tried to fix his mind on the decision ahead, but thoughts of Deord intruded: Deord strong and serene as guard to a solitary, gifted captive; Deord devoting all he had left, after Breakstone, to keeping that wrongly imprisoned man safe from his own brother and from himself. Deord, at the end, fighting one last, heroic battle and dying so Faolan and Ana and the remarkable Drustan could go free.”
“Faolan launched himself across the bridge, uttering a prayer to any deity that might be prepared to listen. "Let me reach her in time, let her keep hold, let this wretched apology for a bridge not crumble under my feet...”
“Na enxerga, Saraid dormia. Eile fazia o mesmo com os longos cabelos espalhados pela almofada como um rio de chamas escuras. Junto da fogueira, os homens de Pitnochie mantinham-se silenciosos, enrolados nos seus cobertores. Ninguém o ouvia; apenas as sombras.”
“There were always risks in life. Life was meant to be lived like that because if it wasn’t, then what was the purpose of living it at all? Measuring”
“What is past is past. never go back. Not for excuses. Not for justification, not for happiness. You are what you are, the world is what it is.”
“He struggled to get ahold of himself. This had to stop! He couldn't flip out every time he thought about what lay before him. Of all the people he would never see, or all the things he would never do. He would be worthless. Of no use at all. He had to have something in his mind to hold on to. Something that gave him strength.”
“It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depth by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.”
“I'm going to be a star some day," she announced as though daring him to contradict her.
"I'm sure you..."
"It's my life. It's the only thing in the whole world that I want."
"It's good to know what you want. I used to be a bookkeeper in a hotel,
but..."
"If I'm not, I'll commit suicide.”
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