“Architects plan it all out and know exactly where they’re headed. The gardeners plant a seed and watch it grow—they let their story unfold. It’s a stare-out-the-window, organic process. So, what are you? A gardener or an architect?”
“I’m in the I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-I’m-doing camp.”
Phil chuckled dryly. “No. Every writer is in that camp.”
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“I’m in the I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-I’m-doing camp.”
Phil chuckled dryly. “No. Every writer is in that camp.”
Joani Elliott ‘The Audacity of Sara Grayson’#элайза_цитата
There is no one so broken they are completely unsalvageable. There is no life so hopeless tomorrow can’t be at least a little better.
Jen St. Jude ‘If Tomorrow Doesn't Come’
#элайза_цитатаThere’s a difference between weakness and survival. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay out of harm’s way, for trying to make it through a world that despises you.
Andrew Joseph White ‘The Spirit Bares Its Teeth’
#элайза_цитатаНекоторые цитаты из книги Phoenicia Rogerson ‘Herc’, которые меня позабавили:‘I hardly think you’re in a position to be casting insults.’
‘It was a compliment.’
‘Any compliment from you is an insult for normal people.’
Self-preservation doesn’t run in my family.
‘They tried to kidnap my wife.’
‘In fairness, my lord, you kidnapped your wife.’
Gods forbid one have capacity for thought when that space could be used for additional musculature.
‘Iatrus Apollo, I humbly beg to talk to you as a servant, and as a brother, for we’re bound together through our father.’
‘I would’ve come anyway, bro. You don’t have to go name-dropping Dad like that.’
With that ominous statement, he hopped from the chair to the floor – not lightly; I’d spend the rest of my life rearranging the furniture so the marks of his giant feet were covered – and left.
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I thought if I could only save one person… if I could save you, maybe my life would mean something. Why won’t you let me save you?
Lianyu Tan ‘The Wicked and the Willing’
#элайза_цитатаWe love people for all sorts of different reasons and in all sorts of different ways, she says. Remember that. And it only gets better, the older you get. Young love isn’t necessarily the best love.
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Laura Spence-Ash ‘Beyond That, the Sea’#элайза_цитата
The secret to a beautiful death is to live a beautiful life. Putting your heart out there. Letting it get broken. Taking chances. Making mistakes.
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Mikki Brammer ‘The Collected Regrets of Clover’#элайза_цитата
If I had to choose, I would say the moment between when you decided to kiss me and when we actually kissed, that is where I wish to live forever. Inside my anticipation, dying to receive you.
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Marisa Crane ‘I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself’#элайза_цитата
‘I would have let you go, you know. After all this. You didn’t have to resort to threats.’
‘And I never needed threats to convince me to keep you alive. Yet you still made them.’
‘And I never needed threats to convince me to keep you alive. Yet you still made them.’
Marianne Gordon ‘The Gilded Crown’
#элайза_цитатаLove is what makes life worth living. Love is what makes us act when we most need to. That’s what your legacy is. It’s how you love the people around you, not how much you’ve sacrificed for them.
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Allison Saft ‘A Fragile Enchantment’#элайза_цитата
Armageddon was a fire in the harbor, a box delivered on a cold day. It wasn’t one great tragedy, but ten million tiny ones, and everyone faced theirs alone.
Katherine Arden ‘The Warm Hands of Ghosts’
#элайза_цитатаWe won, screamed the people outside. Don’t they know, Laura thought, we all lost?
But it was over. The fighting would stop. The killing would stop. And perhaps the world had learned. Perhaps this was the war that would end war. Perhaps.
But it was over. The fighting would stop. The killing would stop. And perhaps the world had learned. Perhaps this was the war that would end war. Perhaps.
Katherine Arden ‘The Warm Hands of Ghosts’
#элайза_цитатаIf the world has not prepared a place for you, you must take up a hammer and chisel and carve one out for yourself.
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A. B. Poranek ‘Where the Dark Stands Still’#элайза_цитата
We all have empty rooms in our hearts. Better to fill them, surely, than to lock their doors and hope they are forgotten.
Natasha Siegel ‘The Phoenix Bride’
#элайза_цитатаFor an agonizing, breathless second, there is nothing in her pewter eyes. Mara Knight is nowhere to be found, and this time, she might be too far to reach. Her eyes slide shut.
“Mara,” I say.
I reach my bloody hand up and wrap it around one of the bars, tipping my forehead against it. If she wanted, Mara could snap the tops of my fingers clean off. She doesn’t. Her pale hand rises, and her fingers curl around mine. Her forehead finds the bar, two inches away.
Her eyes meet mine, and nothing has traded itself in for an overpowering, excruciating everything.
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“Mara,” I say.
I reach my bloody hand up and wrap it around one of the bars, tipping my forehead against it. If she wanted, Mara could snap the tops of my fingers clean off. She doesn’t. Her pale hand rises, and her fingers curl around mine. Her forehead finds the bar, two inches away.
Her eyes meet mine, and nothing has traded itself in for an overpowering, excruciating everything.
Brooke Archer ‘Hearts Still Beating’#элайза_цитата
I do not find it strange to be raised a boy. I know nothing different, and for many years I think the world is made thus. Grandmother lends us a book of ancient myths, and so I believe all bodies are as loose as the bodies in those stories. Zeus changes into a swan to have his way with Leda; Daphne changes to a tree to escape some other cockish god. I figure there is a truth running through these tales like a thread of gristle through meat: that you can be one thing, and then another. Sometimes it’s a threat; sometimes it’s a promise.
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Francesca De Tores ‘Saltblood’#элайза_цитата
The first time I chose in ignorance, knowing nothing of what it is to be a sailor. This second time, I know well enough the cost it demands. Saltblooded, wholehearted, I choose the sea.
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Francesca De Tores ‘Saltblood’#элайза_цитата
I wonder what name Anne will call me now, a new name for this new thing. In the dark, with all our pasts and stories set aside, she might speak my true name – it might rise from her mouth like something surfacing in water. I listen for my name to emerge. I wait, my ear close to her mouth, and all that long night my name is Yes.
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Francesca De Tores ‘Saltblood’#элайза_цитата
Truth is, for us, death isn’t a thing we have glimpsed a few times in a gibbet, in some far-off port. Death is right next to us, sniffing our salt beef and trailing a finger over the side of the cocket-boat to test the water. We are pirates; death is beside us in the rigging and in our hammocks and right here, around this fire, with a pitcher of bad rum and the patience to wait for all of us, each one.
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Francesca De Tores ‘Saltblood’#элайза_цитата
A sister is not a friend. Who can explain the urge to take a relationship as primal and complex as a sibling and reduce it to something as replaceable, as banal as a friend? Yet this status is used again and again to connote the highest intimacy. My mother is my best friend. My husband is my best friend. No. True sisterhood, the kind where you grew fingernails in the same womb, were pushed screaming through identical birth canals, is not the same as friendship. You don’t choose each other, and there’s no furtive period of getting to know the other. You’re part of each other, right from the start. Look at an umbilical cord—tough, sinuous, unlovely, yet essential—and compare it to a friendship bracelet of brightly woven thread. That is the difference between a sister and a friend.
Coco Mellors ‘Blue Sisters’
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