Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
One heart cannot serve two masters.
He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.
I never skulk, and lurk only sometimes.
If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
... true faith never comes without anguish.
People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.
This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?
Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
So.... You are well equipped for our service.' 'Which is?' 'We kill people.
Do you need anything before I go? I want you to return my wits, I long to say.
It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.
Tis Vanth's cage. You can just move it out of the way." "I already have," he grumbles. "With my shin.
It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.
You love me?' 'Yes, you great lummox. I love you.' He lets out a sigh. 'Sweet Camulos! It's about time.
If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them.
I stare at him coldly. "I do not care for needlework." I pause. "Unless it involves the base of the skull.
... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.
And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
... while I am Death's daughter and walk in His dark shadow, surely the darkness can give way to light sometimes.
I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.
Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
I have found it is surprisingly difficult to remain sad when a cat is doing its level best to sandpaper one's cheeks.
I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life.
It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.
Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.
However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.
I cannot tell her I have been moping over a broken heart when I have worked so hard to convince her I have no heart at all.
I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.
You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.
We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
I will sit here but an hour or two, then leave." I yawn. "So very long as that?" When he answers, there is a wry note in his voice. "I do have my reputation to protect.
Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.
I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.
The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.
When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
I pause at the door, wishing I could find a corner and sleep until my head clears, but the sailor said the abbess is expecting me, and while I do not know much about abbesses, I suspect they are not fond of waiting.