Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.
People see what they wish to see. And in most cases, what they are told that they see.
Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case.
The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.
I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held. Trying to control what cannot be controlled. I am tired of denying myself what I want for fear of breaking things I cannot fix. They will break no matter what we do.
Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The future is never set in stone, remember that.
Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars.
This is not magic. This is the way the world is, only very few people take the time to stop and note it.
Secrets have power. And that power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well. Sharing secrets, real secrets, important ones, with even one other person, will change them. Writing them down is worse, because who can tell how many eyes might see them inscribed on paper, no matter how careful you might be with it. So it's really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.
They say it's darkest before the dawn, but it also tend to be quietest, and the quiet lets you hear yourself better.
I think looking forward will be better than looking back.
Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.
I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what I wanted to be real.
It is likely to make us think we are not caged. We cannot feel the bars unless we push against them.
You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows that they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.
I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.
You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul
I don;t think there's anything wrong with being a dreamer. There is not. But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.
The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now.
I do not mourn the loss of my sister because she will always be with me, in my heart," she says. "I am, however, rather annoyed that my Tara has left me to suffer you lot alone. I do not see as well without her. I do not hear as well without her. I do not feel as well without her. I would be better off without a hand or a leg than without my sister. Then at least she would be here to mock my appearance and claim to be the pretty one for a change. We have all lost our Tara, but I have lost a part of myself as well.
The most difficult thing to read is time. Maybe because it changes so many things.
Celia." he says without looking up at her, "why do we wind our watch?" "Because everything requires energy," she recites obediently, eyes still focused on her hand. "We must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change.
The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.
The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.
You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus. You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.
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