Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.
There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?
If the world breaks a million and one promises, can you trust the million and second?
He barely knew I existed. I knew some of the same people he knew, but I was a girl in the background, several degrees of seperation removed.
How oft do they rescue or ruin us, through whimsy or design or a combination of both, the adults to whom we entrust our care!
She hated him and loved him, longed for him and loathed him, and cursed herself for feeling anything at all
Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.
Miss Marks, you see, makes her living by...entertaining young, and not so young, sailors...or any other members of the armed forced, or civilians, who enjoy...being entertained by ladies who...entertain.
Adolphus is not at his desk. That means he is somewhere in the Monstrumarium, has gone home for the day, or is dead.
But monsters, I now know, come in all shapes and sizes, and only their appetite for human flesh defines them.
As long as you draw breath anywhere -here or ten thousands miles from here- I will love you. I can't help loving you, so I choose to hate you...to make my love bearable.
Memories can bring comfort to the old and infirm, but memories can also be implacable foes, a malicious army of temporal ghosts forever pillaging the long-sought-after peace of our twilight years.
We are very much like them: indiscriminate killers, ruled by drives little acknowledged and less understood, mindlessly territorial and murderously jealous - the only significant difference being that they have yet to master our expertise in hypocrisy, the gift of our superior intellect that enables us to slaughter one another in droves, more often than not under the auspices of an approving god!
A child has little defense against the sight of a parent laid low. Parents, like the earth beneath our feet and the sun above our heads, are immutable objects, eternal and reliable. If one should fall, who might vouch the sun itself won't fall, burning, into the sea?
Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.
I assure you, Constable Morgan, I am quite sane, as I understand the word, perhaps the sanest person in this room, for I suffer from no illusions. I have freed myself, you see, from the pretense that burdens most men. Much like our prey, I do not impose order where there is none; I do not pretend there is any more than what there is, or that you and I are anything more than what we are. That is the essence of their beauty, Morgan, the aboriginal purity of their being, and why I admire them.
I brought Sammy inside and put him to bed. Said his prayer with him. “‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’” To me, just random noise. Gibberish. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I felt that, when it came to God, there was a broken promise in there somewhere.
We are the hunters---and we are also the bait.
And red is not the color of apples or roses or the dresses that pretty girls wear in the summertime. That is not the color of red at all.
The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.
There are things that are too terrible to remember, and there are things that are almost too wonderful to recall.
I don't care what the stars say about how small we are. One, even the smallest, weakest, most insignificant one, matters.
Some things you don't have to promise. You just do.
And then Evan Walker kisses me.
Climb onto my shoulders. I will not let you fall.
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