Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.
You have to write a lot. And you have to rewrite what you wrote a lot more.
When you don't know what you're searching for, you have to look absolutely everywhere.
Changing is what people do when they have no options left.
Those who really love you don't mean to hurt you and if they do, you can't see it in their eyes but it hurts them too.
But now I wonder--what if everyone is pretty much the same and it's just a thousand small choices that add up to the person you are? No good or evil, no black and white, no inner demons or angels whispering the right answers in our ears like it's some cosmic SAT test. Just us, hour by hour, minute by minute, day by day,making the best choices we can. The thought is horrifying. If that's true, then there's no right choice. There's only choice.
We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be
We’re all dying, Cassel. It’s just that some of us are dying faster than others.
It's the flaw that brings out the beauty.
The easiest lies to tell are the ones you want to be true.
Every hero is the villain of his own story.
I need you to be happy. I need one of us to be happy.
You are the only thing I have that is neither duty nor obligation, the only thing I chose for myself. The only thing I want.
Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks.
I envy what I fear and hate what I envy.
Life is like licking Honey from a Thorn
If curiosity killed the cat, it was satisfaction that brought it back.
Librarians are hot. They have knowledge and power over their domain...It is no coincidence how many librarians are portrayed as having a passionate interior, hidden by a cool layer of reserve. Aren't books like that? On the shelf, their calm covers belie the intense experience of reading one. Reading inflames the soul. Now, what sort of person would be the keeper of such books?
I think Bob appreciated my outfit. He made me buy the more expensive pendant. You might think that was to my disadvantage, but I accept that status comes with a price.” “Not usually so immediately.” I shake my head. “You better not be hitting on federal agent ladies. They’ll arrest you.” His grin widens. “I like handcuffs.” I groan. “There is something seriously wrong with you.” “Nothing that a night being worked over by a hot representative of justice couldn’t fix.
Isn't every hero aware of all the terrible reason they did those good deeds?" Aware of every mistake they ever made and how good people got hurt because of their decisions? Don't they recall the moments they weren't heroic at all? The moments where their heroism led to more deaths than deliberate villainy ever could?
Love changes us, but we change how we love too.
She looks honestly upset, but then, I’ve learned that I can’t read her. The problem with a really excellent liar is that you have to just assume they’re always lying.
Clever girl. You play with fire because you want to be burnt.
She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.
It’s hard to come up with a scheme to thwart some other scheme you don’t even know about.
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