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Katsa sat in the darkness of the Sunderan forest and understood three truths. She loved Po. She wanted Po. And she could never be anyone's but her own.

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Forests
Understood
Darkness
Loved
Anyone
Three
Forest
Wanted
Sat
Never
Truths

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His last thought was that it hadn't been stupidity that had allowed his son to enchant him so easily with words. It had been love.
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Tell me what I can do to help you feel better. Well...I always like when you kiss me... Do you? You're good at it. Well, that's lucky. Because I'll always be kissing you.
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Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder.
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Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see.
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I'm not good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away.
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Bacon improved things dramatically.
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He leaned heavily on the desk now, as if danger had strengthened him before and its lack now made him weak.
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She would like to restrain from cruelty and receive no admiration for it.
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I love you, he said. You're more dear to my heart than I ever knew anyone else can be. And I've made you cry and there I'll stop. She was crying, but not because of his words. It was because of a certainty she refused to consider while she sat before him.
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I've liked you better when Katsa's around, Giddon said. She's so rotten to me that you seem positively pleasant in contrast.
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And she would protect him as fiercely, if it were ever his need- if a fight ever became too much for him or if he needed shelter, or food, or a fire in the rain. Or anything she could provide. She would protect him from anything.
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Katsa turned to Po with tears in her eyes. 'He'll be so angry.' 'He won't stay angry forever.' 'Won't he?' she said. 'People do sometimes.' 'Do they?' he said. 'Reasonable people? I hope that's not true.' Katsa gave him a funny look, but didn't answer. Resumed hugging herself and kicking things.
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Katsa now sat calmly on the stomach of her vanquished foe. He was handsome, said said. Po moaned. Was he beat-to-a-pulp handsome, or perhaps just push-down-a-flight-of-stairs handsome? I would not push a seventy six year old man down a flight of stairs, said Katsa indignantly.
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It has been a hard lesson to learn, that greatness requires suffering.
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I think.' she said, 'that sometimes we don't feel the things that we are. But others can feel them.
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Your horse is named Small. Yes. Mine is named Big. -Fire and Brigan
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Some people had too much power and too much cruelty to live. Some people were too horrible, no matter if you loved them no matter that you had to make yourself terrible too, in order to stop them. Some things just had to be done. I forgive myself, thought Fire. Today, I forgive myself.
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Gratitude takes less energy than anger.
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While I was looking the other way your fire went out Left me with cinders to kick into dust What a waste of the wonder you were In my living fire I will keep your scorn and mine In my living fire I will keep your heartache and mine At the disgrace of a waste of a life
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And, he continued, his strange smile gleaming, as I see it, our hearts are not so different in size. I murdered my father. You murdered yours. Is that something you did with a large heart?
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