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Almost lost you, he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Been through too much, me and you. We're going to finish this thing together.

Brom

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Brom
Much
Almost
Lost
Thought
Together
Back
Blinking
Find
Finish
Thing
Surprised
Going
Tears

More quotes by Brom

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Did he dare trust this insane boy?
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And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.
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There is always something left to lose.
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For Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
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Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.
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Both sides so blinded by their fear and hate of each other that they couldn't see they were all fighting for the same thing.
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Don't let them win. Don't let them beat you. Don't let them steal your magic.
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Peter glanced up at the stars and a wicked smile lit his face. Time to play, he whispered to the stars and winked. And the stars winked back, for Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
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Demon or not, it didn't matter, suffering was everywhere he looked.
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That's the spirit, one part brave, three parts fool.
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Men-kind shared this world for but a blink, then, sadly, they became enlightened, found science and religion. The new world of men left little room for magic or the magical creatures of old. Earth’s first children were driven into the shadows by flame and cold iron, by man’s insatiable need of conquest.
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My name's Peter. Can I play too?
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There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.
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And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter's laugh was a most contagious thing.
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Enough talk, Peter said, and his eyes flashed. It's time to turn you three into killers.
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Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?
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Had not enough gone wrong?
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Peter, she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.
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Peter stood, cleared his throat, and began to hum softly, then sing, slowly building up the song as his voice cleared. He found the old tune, the song of the Sunbird. And as he sung, as his rich voice echoed off the tall cliffs, the birds and the faeries lent him their voice and soon the tune drifted throughtout the garden.
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But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?
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