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Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Randa didn't deserve it. And even though she wanted what the voice wanted, she didn't think she had the courage for it.

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Though
Voice
Didn
Frightening
Wanted
Murder
Even
Mercy
Think
Deserve
Thinking
Harder
Courage

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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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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
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We're going to win this war, you know, now that our army's together. But the world doesn't care who wins. It'll go on spinning, no matter how many people are slaughtered. After a moment, he added. I almost wish it wouldn't, if we aren't allowed to go on spinning with it.
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Alone with Giddon again, Bitterblue considered him, rather liking the mud streaks on his face. He looked like a handsome sunken rowboat.
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People want incongruous, impossible things.
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Danzhol. The one with the marriage proposal and the objections to the town charter in central Monsea. Bacon, Bitterblue muttered. Bacon! she repeated, then carefully made her way up the spiral stairs.
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You're beautiful this morning, Archer said, stopping before her, kissing her nose. You're impossibly sweet in my shirt. That might be but she felt like death. She would gladly make the trade how blissful it would be to feel impossibly sweet and look like death.
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There are no medicines to bring a dead thing back to life.
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Every configuration of people is an entirely new universe unto itself.
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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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Do you understand? I don't want you to do a thing if you don't understand it.
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They seemed no closer to the tops of the peaks that rose before them. It was only by looking back, to the forest far below, that she knew they'd climbed.
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You won't even take your bow? Are you planning to throttle a moose with your bare hands, then? I've a knife in my boot, she said, and then wondered, for a moment, if she could throttle a moose with her bare hands.
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You won't even take your bow? Are you planning to throttle a moose with your bare hands, then?
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She cried like a person whose heart is broken and wondered how, when two people loved each other, there could be such a broken heart.
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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'd lost her fury, somewhere, as they'd talked. She didn't feel it anymore. She wished she did, because she preferred it to the emptiness that had settled in its place.
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I don't understand your book. Isn't every book a book of words?
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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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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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