“Ishabal: "If you may correct your vision as you like, why do you wear spectacles?"
Tris: "Because I like them. Because I have better things to do with my magic than fixing my vision when ordinary glass will do.”
“You can tell all Namorn this is what happens when I am vexed," she informed him softly.
"Little *bitch*," he snapped.
Sandry looked him over soberly. "If you had understood that earlier, we could have avoided this unpleasantness," she replied.”
“All these nice clothes, all these jokes and drinks and food, what good does it do? Tomorrow, folk will be poor and starving and dying with a solder's pike in them, and these people will have another celebration, more nice clothes, more jokes, more gems. The suffering is forgotten or ignored - why sorrow? The war victims aren't our people. And then the wheel turns and suddenly they are our people.”
“Never express anger with a friend or a subordinate in public,” Vedris always said. “They might forgive a private expression of anger or a deserved scolding, but they never forget a public humiliation. It is the surest way to destroy a friendship and to create enemies.”
“Things change,” Daja said softly. “We change with them. We sail before the wind. We become adults. As adults, we keep our minds and our secrets hidden, and our wounds. It’s safer.”
“And she told you something about yourself you really ought to know: that you're beautiful, and worth loving.”
“Don't we teach our women to view all men according to the actions of a few?”
“There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.”
“Perhaps I ought to remember that she is very young, a mere girl and make allowances. She is all interest, eagerness, vivacity, the world is to her a charm, a wonder, a mystery, a joy; she can’t speak for delight when she finds a new flower, she must pet it and caress it and smell it and talk to it, and pour out endearing names upon it. And she is color-mad: brown rocks, yellow sand, gray moss, green foliage, blue sky; the pearl of the dawn, the purple shadows on the mountains, the golden islands floating in crimson seas at sunset, the pallid moon sailing through the shredded cloud-rack, the star-jewels glittering in the wastes of space — none of them is of any practical value, so far as I can see, but because they have color and majesty, that is enough for her, and she loses her mind over them. If she could quiet down and keep still a couple of minutes at a time, it would be a reposeful spectacle. In that cases I think I could enjoy looking at her; indeed I am sure I could, for I am coming to realize that she is a quite remarkably comely creature — lithe, slender, trim, rounded, shapely, nimble, graceful; and once when she was standing marble-white and sun-drenched on a boulder, with her young head tilted back and her hand shading her eyes, watching the flight of a bird in the sky, I recognized that she was beautiful.”
“I don't want you to be the shifter." Rokan's voice was quiet, and her human sense of smell told her nothing about how he felt. "I haven't wanted that for a long time. Since before I knew it was possible for you to not be the shifter." A pause then --- so quietly that even she could barely hear him. "Since before I knew I loved you.”
“I wasn't wearing war paint. But that didn't matter. I didn't need war paint. I was a different person than I had been, back then.”
“I'd do the lifting, but I just got a manicure. And I notice you don't have a manicure at all. Only thing noticeable about your hands is the missing tan on your ring finger that I don't care about. -Lula”
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