You blame me for this, don't you?" he says. "I don't need to. You're doing a better job.
Sometimes... sometimes keeping alive is too tiring," she whispered, wringing her hands. Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his lips against her brow. "Don't ever say that. Ever.
God knows what possessed me, but having that science book in my hand propelled me to immediate action. So I hit her with it.
We just have to learn to meet each other halfway okay?
He knew he should have counted. It was the rule to count to ten in his head before he opened his mouth. It was the rule to count to ten if he wanted to smash a man in the face for saying something he didn't like. It was the rule to count to ten if instinct wasn't needed, but common sense was.
It's how they've stayed popular for so long. By not doing anything that will make them look like fools. They never leave home without their safety nets and I think, good for them, but the thing with safety nets is this. I got tangled in them so many times and the Stella girls always seemed to leave me dangling, upside down, to the point where I almost couldn't breathe anymore.
Coffee?" Santangelo calls down to us. We both look up. He,Ben, and Raffy are hanging over the side. "Is it espresso?" Anson Choi asks behind us. "Freshly percolated," Ben answers. "You should see the gadgets they have up here." Anson Choi aims a begging look at Griggs. "You want to sell out over a coffee?" Griggs asks him with disgust. "They've got muffins as well," I tell them. "Double chocolate chip. His mum made them." Griggs gets up and holds out a hand to me. "Truce.
Don't you ever touch my car again," Santangelo says with the same fury he had on his face when Jonah Griggs made comments about his mother. Raffy touches the car with her finger in a very dramatic way. "You've just made our hit list," he says, getting a hanky out of his pocket and cleaning off some imaginary mark.
You're going to set us all on fire, you homicidal feral fruitcake.
A blind man can see what she feels for you and you for her. Your souls are not merely entwined; they are fused.
You said to me once that you weren’t what I dreamed of. You were right. You surpass everything I dreamed of. Even the rot in you that’s caused you to do shameful things. Some men let the rot and guilt fester into something ugly beyond words. Few men can turn it into worth and substance. If you’re gods’ blessed for no other reason, it’s for that.
then she was laughing. They both were, and the savage teeth were the most joyous sight Phaedra had seen for a long time. It was as if they were dancing. There it was. Suddenly the strangeness of Quintana of Charyn's face made sense. Because it was a face meant for laughing, but it had never been given a chance.
Do I have to be here to belong to you?' Froi asked. 'Can't I belong to you wherever I am?
What if she's all I give you in this life of ours, my love?" she asked quietly. "Then I'll shout at the goddess in fury," he said fiercely. "I'll beg to know why I've been given so much when other men have so little.
Phaedra of Alonso’s death was a never-ending pain that gnawed at his insides. It made him a prisoner in his own cottage.
Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.
Sheep. Looting. Cousins." Lucien cursed and got out of bed.
Brothers always. Balthazar is with us too. We make this work,' Finnikin said fiercely. 'We bring peace to these kingdoms. We deserve it. Our women do. All of us have lost too much, Froi. We've lost the joy of being children. Let's not take that from Jasmina and Tariq and those who come after them
It is what a man does for strangers that counts more than what he does for his family.
The idea that God works in mysterious ways is rubbish. There’s nothing mysterious about his ways. They’re premeditated and slightly conniving, and they place you in an impossible situation.
Do you miss being friends with Santangelo?" I ask her after the lights are out and we're almost asleep. "What makes you think were friends?" "Everything." I hear her yawn. "Being enemies with him is better." she tells me. There's a long pause and I think she's going to say something more but she doesn't and it's just silence for a long while.
Their bedroom has always been our sanctuary. Sometimes at night we'll end up on their bed just talking. My dad will be snoring and Mia will say, "Turn around, Bobby, you're snoring," and he'll turn around and for a moment it'll be silent. Then he'll erupt into a massive snore and Luca and I will kill ourselves laughing and my dad will wake up and bark, "Get to bed!" and not even a second later he'll be snoring and we'll kill ourselves laughing again and Mia will say, "What is this? Grand Central Station?
And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and cruel when you're watching someone die. But there's a joy and an abundance of everything, like information and laughter and summer weather and so many stories. My mother urges me to write them down because, "You're the last of the Markhams, my love." So I record dates and journeys and personalities and traits and heroes and losers and weaknesses and strengths and I try to capture every one of those people because one day I'll need what they had to offer.
I’m frightened that one morning there will not be enough to keep me going.
Left alone with the dial tone...excuse me, operator, why is no one listening?
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