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I thought that for a long while, but you chose me, and then you chose him, and choosing is hard - one choice is never the end of the story.
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He'll burn you down like wax if you let him. You'll think it's love, while he dines on your heart. And maybe it will be. But he's so hungry, he'll eat you all in one sitting, and you'll be in his belly, and what will you do then?
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It takes energy for new roads to diverge in new woods, and no energy is spent with complete efficiency, without waste. Where wood has burned, there will be ash. The waste product of the constantly dividing multiverse is a fine, drifting mist of regret, and no wormhole has ever starved.
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You’re not in love if you keep your own heart bricked up behind your bones. You’re only playing.
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There is no such thing as a people who are all wicked or even all good. Everyone chooses. But even they, even they looked at people and saw only tools. No one is a cup for another to drink from.
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This is my heart - carry it with you. I will dream of you in the dark, and you will taste it in my tea, and feel it in my shoes.
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Greta, Greta, he whispered, eyes shut in rapture, on thy breast I write my Edda, at thy feet I lay the keys of Niflheim, by thy leave alone, I live, and breathe, and die.
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You are not the chosen one, September. Fairyland did not choose you – you chose yourself.
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I believe we have an utterly unique specimen on our hands: a child who listens.
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I readied myself for the great effort of speaking with the throat-and-belly instead of the mind-and-heart. It is altogether a different skill.
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Rules are for those who can't think of a better way.
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Everyone is a criminal! We are beset on all sides by antirevolutionary forces. Naturally, then, humans fall into three categories: the criminal, the not-yet-criminal, and the not-yet-caught.
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The war is always going badly.
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I do not want to muddle about with Politicks, and whenever two Folk of any sort are in a room together there are always Politicks to be muddled in.
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...snow is the beginning and the end of everything...
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But her heart was so cold that she could hold ice in her mouth and it would never melt.
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Bran felt terribly sorry for his sisters, but it was hardly his fault that the world was so determined to make girls suffer a great deal more than boys. He hadn’t built the world. It had nothing to do with him.
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The Marsh King raised himself up and ushered me out the door with the air of a host who has just realized he is one guest away from a comfortable nap.
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Do you know, Masha, how revelation comes? Like death. So sudden, though you knew all along it must occur. A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.
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We’ve made too many movies, you and I. Or too few. Always too few. Too many to have any meaning, too few to say what we meant.
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I have all the books I could need, and what more could I need than books?
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It is not so easy to always remember who you are.
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And indeed, as night drew on the sky like a bodice, lacing it with the last beams of sunlight
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You can't blame a book for its story.