Life goes on even at the worst of times, and there are some ways no one ever grows up, no matter how long they live or how many lifetimes
„To, co se podvolí, není vždycky slabé.
You're as bad as your master, he muttered, scarce audible amid the sea-sounds. Worse. At least he didn't ply his words from a courtesan's lips.
The world began in ending, and it will end in beginning.
It was small consolation, but it would have to do. I squeezed his hand once more, in lieu of things unsaid. Come on.
Joscelin, is love supposed to make you feel like you’re sick and dying, and mad enough to hit someone and drunk with joy, and your heart’s a boulder n your chest trying to burst into a thousand pieces...
And Kushiel sends no punishment that we are not fit to bear.
You should tell them, Joscelin said shortly. Tell them the truth. Fear and lies fester in darkness. The truth may wound, but it cuts clean.
But slight mistakes accumulate, and grow to gross errors if unchecked.
Well, I was living it, but a shared dream half-lived is a hollow thing
It wouldn’t last, of course. I had no illusions on that score. But while it did, I meant to relish every moment of the respite.
Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?
Stand at the crossroads if you will, but if you'll not choose, I'll move on without you
Take care of her, he bid his servants, weariness and profound satisfaction draining his voice, shrugging into silk robes, bowing in my direction. Treat her gently. They did, I trust; I don’t remember...
There would be love, and while it was mine, I could cling to it. I could rejoice -- in life, in the existence of love. In the existence of people like Phedre and Joscelin. Although the standards they...
The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart.
Alas for we who are mortal, and are denied the luxury of dramatic license. We mus live, and go onward.
Our eyes met. We had so very many shared memories between us, Bao and I. Some were wonderous, and some were terrible. Some were both.
Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel.
The keeping of secrets from adults is oft the only power a child may hope to possess.
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