Woe is the natural end of life, yet we go on having babies.
What had survived - maybe all that had survived of Trism - was Liir's sense of him. A catalog of impressions that arose from time to time, unbidden and often upsetting. From the sandy smell of his san...
The sun is the biggest metaphor. The sun is the first candle. She can get there by its light.
The colossal might of wickedness, he thought: how we love to locate it massively elsewhere. But so much of it comes down to what each one of us does between breakfast and bedtime.
Skibbereen have a hard time at [math]; the best that the smartest of them can do with adding two plus two is guessing: three plus one. Correct, sort of, but not always useful.
Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.
Para a alma, cada instante sempre é um minuto mais próximo do julgamento
Lost is not an address, it’s not a permission to fail, it’s not an excuse.
It was hard to tell what her weapons were, except for that sort of inane good sense and emotional honesty.
I'm just doing your tea, Mum, he said. Are you all imbecilic? Is that a requirement of enlisted men? It's Lady GLINDA! She was losing it, big time. Get me Murth!
I may not be sure if monsters exist but I'd rather live my life in doubt than be persuaded by a real experience of one.
How deeply bound by cords of family anger we all are, thought the Witch. None of us breaks free. 12 One afternoon a few weeks
Happy endings are still endings.
Good gracious, dear, all of life is a spell. You know that.
Birds know themselves not to be at the center of anything, but at the margins of everything. The end of the map. We only live where someone's horizon sweeps someone else's. We are only noticed on the...
Are you an aberration to your species?' she cried. 'Cats don't look for approval!
Oh, mercy, there is nothing monstrously ugly about you. Ruth may be unpleasing, but you are merely plain. If anything, it's my beauty that's monstrous, for it sweeps away any other aspect of my charac...
To read, even in the half-dark, is also to call the lost forward.
They had ganged up on her, in the claustrophobic, loving way of families, and she wanted no more of it. 7
Then, abrupt and decisive, the Emerald City rose before them. A city of insistence, of blanket declaration. It made no sense, clotting up the horizon, sprouting like a mirage on the characterless plai...