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If we knew a person was going to die, we'd hold harder to the memories. Fire corrected him, in a whisper. The good memories.

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Fire
Dies
Persons
Corrected
Person
Whisper
Going
Harder
Good
Hold
Memories
Knew

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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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Gratitude takes less energy than anger.
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There was no helping her tears. For they would leave Po behind… She cried into his shoulder like a child. Ashamed of herself, for it was only a parting, and Bitterblue had not wept like this even over a death. ‘Don’t be ashamed,' Po whispered. ‘Your sadness is dear to me. Don’t be frightened. I won’t die, Katsa. I won’t die, and we’ll meet again.
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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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Only a person with the true heart of a dictionary-writer would be lying in bed, three days after being stabbed in the gut, worrying about his P's.
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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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Your eyes are beautiful, he said, and she felt warm suddenly, warm in the sun that dappled through the treetops and rested on them in patches.
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What a horrifying notion, he said. A creature with the power to take over one's mind.
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When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster? Did it become something else?
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Love is stupid. It has nothing to do with reason. You love whomever you love.
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The fellow who tends the greenhouse gardens? Trust me, Lady, you'd let him stake your tomatoes.
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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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Your horse is named Small. Yes. Mine is named Big. -Fire and Brigan
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It hurt her eyes, almost, Ror City and it didn't surprise her that Po should come from a place that shone.
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For now, Lady Queen, he said, allow us to continue to obey you. But give us honorable instructions, Lady Queen, he said, turning a flushed face to hers. Ask us to do honorable things, so that we may have the honor of obeying you.
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I'm not such a bad fighter myself, Skye said. Po exploded with laughter. Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can't imagine a more entertaining diversion.
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Then she'll know I'll want to knock her senseless if she so much as looks at me.
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The only way for you to keep your mind straight is to run from those who would confuse you.
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You’re crying.” “I’m not.” “Right,” he said mildly. “I suppose you got rained on.
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I don't understand your book. Isn't every book a book of words?
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