My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.
How can something as fragile as a word build the whole world?
Yes, I'm shallow, I don't mind admitting it. Perhaps I should admit that there's no end to the depths of my shallowness.
I like rain and mist. I've never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.
People think me a sort of Florence Nightingale, but I have no heroic qualities. I simply don’t feel very much.
Our English monarchs are so unimaginative,” said Eldric. “They execute people in such tediously conventional ways.
But witchy magic doesn’t listen to please and pretty please, and anyway, I didn’t really care. I only pretended to care because not caring makes me a monster.
I don’t mind the disapproving ones so much. It’s the tolerant ones I can’t stand, the ones who smile at Rose, who speak to her ever so slowly and gently. They don’t realize how very intelligent Rose really is. They’re just terrifically pleased with themselves. Look at me! they all but shout. See how broad-minded I am! How wonderfully progressive, how fantastically twentieth century!
I’m not really the sacrificing type.
He’s harmless, poor thing. That’s what everyone said. It was true, but who cares? Lots of people are harmless, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.
Eavesdropping is such a regular-person activity.
Despite her cough, Rose was in unusually good spirits. That was irritating. If I’m to trade my life for Rose’s, I’d appreciate her exhibiting a touch of melancholy. Also acceptable would be despair.
Now that’s true poetic irony. I rush into battle to defend the fair name of Rose Larkin, and what does she do but fetch Robert to stop me.
Did I kill him?” I said. “No, miss,” said Robert. “Pity.
Poor Petey. I’d like to say I could almost feel a tender spot for poor Petey, but the truth is I’d rather feel at the tender spot on his head and give it a poke.
Secrets press inside a person. They press the way water presses at a dam. The secrets and the water, they both want to get out.
Father sighed. “Please spare me these arguments of yours.” “Whose arguments should I use?
I hated myself, but I also loved myself in a hateful way.
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