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Why does everybody throw every troublesome thing into the river?

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Every
Troublesome
River
Throw
Rivers
Everybody
Doe
Thing

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If he touches you, I'll come in and choke him to death.
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You're afraid of your own 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 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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If we're to be judged by our parents and grandparents, then we all may as well impale ourselves upon jagged bits of rock.
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She groped forward, hands and feet, in search of darkness, distance and solitude.
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And you may blame me for your feelings, but it isn't fair to blame me for how you've chosen to behave.
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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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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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The fellow who tends the greenhouse gardens? Trust me, Lady, you'd let him stake your tomatoes.
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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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If her enemies were Brigan's friends and her friends were Brigan's enemies, then the two of them could walk through the world arm in arm and never be hit by arrows again.
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Fire sat unbreathing. A life that was an apology for the life of his father: It was a notion she could understand, beyond words and thought. She understood it the way she understood music.
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There are no medicines to bring a dead thing back to life.
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It's hard to wake from a nightmare when the nightmare is real.
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I don't want to love you if you're only going to die.
Kristin Cashore
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Katsa didn't think a person should thank her for not causing pain. Causing joy was worthy of thanks, and causing pain worthy of disgust. Causing neither was neither, it was nothing, and nothing didn't warrant thanks.
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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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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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As she left the room, Po went to Katsa, pulled her up, sat himself in her chair, and drew her into his lap. Shushing her, he rocked her, the two of them holding on to each other as if it were the only thing keeping the world from bursting apart.
Kristin Cashore