People who claim that they’re evil are usually no worse than the rest of us. He sighed. It’s people who claim that they’re good, or anyway better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.
People who claim that they're evil are usually no worse than the rest of us. It's people who claim that they're good, or anyway better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.
Or is it just that the world upwraps itself to you, again and again, as soon as you're ready to see it anew?
One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her~is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?
Not everyone is born a witch or a saint. Not everyone is born talented, or crooked, or blessed; some are born definite in no particular at all.
No, she cried, no, no, I'm not a harem, I'm not a woman, I'm not a person, no.
Never underestimate the value of a mother in wartime. She has the most to fight for.
Maybe the definition of home is the place where you are never forgiven, so you may always belong there, bound by guilt. And maybe the cost of belonging is worth it.
Liir held Chistery in his lap and sobbed into his scalp. Chistery said, Well, we'll wail while woe'll wheel, and he cried along with Liir.
In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realize it is far more common for men to turn into rats.
In the lives of children, pumpkins can turn into coaches, mice and rats into human beings. When we grow up, we learn that it's far more common for human beings to turn into rats.
I think you know if you're different, he ventured. I think you know if you're gifted. How could you not?You know if you feel set apart, said Nanny, but who doesn't feel that? Maybe we're all gifted. W...
I just like to think about what I’m reading. Don’t you? I don’t read very well. So I don’t think I think very well either. Galinda smiled. I dress to kill, though.
How poetic you are, she said. I've a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception.
He is a boy, just as boys are. A little dull, maybe, but he hasn't had the advantages we've had.''Which are?' prompted Glinda.'Even for a short time,' said Elphaba, 'we had a mother. Giddy, alcoholic,...
He had forgotten how convincing the world could look, how sure of itself: its outlines and edges; it's gradations, recessions, protrusions; it's startling and vulgar colors.
Furniture! bellowed the witch. Tables, bathtub, the lot of you. It's time to go out in the world and seek your fortunes, if that's your hope. There was a crashing sound as all the furniture went and t...
Everything was not merely relative, it was-how to put it?-relevant. Representational. Revealing. Referential and reverential both.
Deslizando as mãos ao longo das costelas dela até a planura do seu abdómen. Ela trazia-lhe sempre as mãos de volta aos seios delgados e expressivos; não permitia ser tocada por mãos abaixo da cintura....
Children are wickeder than adults, they have no sense of restraint.