You're beautiful this morning," Archer said, stopping before her, kissing her nose. "You're impossibly sweet in my shirt." That might be but she felt like death. She would gladly make the trade; how blissful it would be to feel impossibly sweet and look like death.
The fellow who tends the greenhouse gardens? Trust me, Lady, you'd let him stake your tomatoes.
Lady Queen," he said, "You've given me all I want. You're the queen a librarian dreams of.
You're afraid of your own anger.
I don’t often know who should read what book. It’s a little bit like trying to set people up on a date - a good match is unpredictable and mysterious.
If he touches you, I'll come in and choke him to death.
Isn't is lovely to be all together again?" Raffin said, throwing one arm around Po and the other around Bann. -------- She wanted them near, even if they were subsumed by their own affairs, she needed them at sword practice in the morning, at dinner at night, moving and shifting around her, there and gone, back again, arguing, teasing, acting like people who knew who they were.
I've always been led to believe that the ultimate goal for an author is the movie deal. Now I understand that the movie deal is merely a MEANS TO A MUCH HIGHER END: NAIL POLISH.
Well then, "Katsa said. "Of course, we'll operate with the greatest possible secrecy, Bitterblue. And for what it's worth, we'll deny your involvement to our dying breaths, and I'll kill anyone who doesn't." Bann began to laugh into Raffin's shoulder. Smiling, Raffin said sideways to him, "Can you imagine what it would be like to be able to say that and mean it?
Now we just need to find someone who is close to the king but is really a spy for Mydogg." "That should be easy. I could probably shoot an arrow out the window and hit one.
Living is too hard right now. Dying is easy. Let me die.
If she was suggesting she was too wise with the weight of her experience to fall prey to infatuation - well, the disproof was sitting before her in the form of a gray-eyed prince with a thoughtful set to his mouth that she found quite distracting.
At least her last words to him had been words of love. But she wished she'd told him just how much she loved him. How much she had to thank him for, how many good things he had done. She hadn't told him nearly enough.
Everybody was strange. In a fit of frustration, she scratched out strange and wrote the word CRACKPOTS in big letters.
Find something useful to do with your morning,' she thought to him as she neared her chambers. 'Do something heroic in front of an audience. Knock a child into a river while no one's looking and then rescue him.
He made her drunk, this man made her drunk; and every time his eyes flashed into hers she could not breathe.
I'm not good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away.
Love is stupid. It has nothing to do with reason. You love whomever you love.
You can't help whom you love, Lady. Nor can you know what it's liable to cause you to do.
Our own story is even more important for us to know than history.
Well, none of it would ever end if she was too afraid for it to begin.
And what was it about the dark that made her question things she’d never questioned before, in the day.
They seemed no closer to the tops of the peaks that rose before them. It was only by looking back, to the forest far below, that she knew they'd climbed.
People want incongruous, impossible things.
Men are daft around women, incautious and boastful.
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