Han spotted a child‟s homespun dolly in the ditch, pressed into the mud. He reined in, meaning to climb down and fetch it so he could clean it up for his little sister. Then he remembered that Mari was dead and had no need of dollies anymore. Grief was like that. It gradually faded into a dull ache, until some simple sight or sound or scent hit him like a hammer blow.
But maybe it's better to go after something, and not get it, than to not even try.
Nobody's going to hand you anything. You don't get what you don't go after.
Ellen could have killed me," Jack said quietly, "but she didn't. She saved my life." "How come?" Fitch demanded. "After all this?" Ellen turned scarlet and stared at the ground. "Maybe none of my opponents ever gave me flowers before," she mumbled.
Will you give the girl to me?" she said. "Will you let me try?" He nodded, dizzy with relief. "Please, Willo. Please. Save her. It doesn't matter...what happens to me.
Just remember who you are... The world will try to change you into someone else. Don't let them. That's the best advice anyone can give you.
I'd rather have a go at life, so there's something to talk about once we're gone.
Don't expect much and you won't be disappointed.
How'd it go with Leesha?" "It was great! We were bad cop and bad cop!
He's not lazy. He's just highly inefficient.
And, like a fool, she kissed him back. Kissed him a way that would leave no doubt about the way she felt about him. Kissed him because she knew the chances were slim she'd have very many kisses like that in her lifetime. Which is a sad thing when you're only seventeen.
My tagline is ‘Less sex, more romance, lower body count.’
A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.
You couldn’t keep your mouth shut? I’m calling you Glitterhair from now on. Or Talksalot.
A vocation is not something you slap on, like a coat of paint, and change whenever you want. A vocation is built into you. You have no choice. If you try to do something else, you fail.
If he even survives." She shivered, and Amon put his arm around her, drawing her into his steady warmth. "It's that bad?" Raisa nodded. "He looked...he looked awful, Amon. Willo doesn't know if he'll...She's worried about him. My mother died, and I never got to tell her that I loved her, that I finally understood - just a little anyway. If Han dies too, I don't know what I'll do.
His aster-blue eyes shown out from a face blackened by bruises and soot, his fair hair glittering in the firelight. Dressed all in black, silhouetted against flame, he looked rather like a demon, raised from the dead, trading for souls on the other side.
Admit nothing - that was his first rule. Appeal to logic - second rule. Delay the inevitable - third rule.
Weird is good, strange is bad.
We may all end up dead, but we're sticking it to them in the meantime.
He swept Raisa up into his arms and kissed her like it was his first, last, and only
The next chamber is full of songbirds, if I remember right. Their music is like turtleweed. It will put you to sleep if you listen to it. They sleep most of the time, so the best thing is to pass through without waking them up. If they do awaken, then you must sing loud enough to drown out their music." "Great," Han said. "Whose idea was that?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time," Crow said. "I was an excellent singer.
What kind of love would drive a man for miles through solid rock?
Crow paced back and forth, his form flickering like flame. "It's been a thousand years, Alister. I never intended for anyone to find it, so it's very well protected. One little misstep, and you and my line will be history." "Since when are you so concerned about your line?" Han said. Crow stared at him for a long moment. "Since I found out I had one.
I've found it wise to enjoy any time of truce, while recognizing it for what it is. A truce.
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