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What a strange world it is, where prisoners are left their weapons and the written word is a mortal danger.
Megan Whalen Turner
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Megan Whalen Turner
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Word
Prisoners
Left
Mortal
World
Prisoner
Mortals
Weapons
Danger
Strange
Written
More quotes by Megan Whalen Turner
I was not so comfortable with my new authority that I could say 'We eat the chicken now!' but the magus had seen that I was considering it.
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That is ridiculous, she said. The king agreed. Like falling in love with a landslide. Only you could fail to notice.
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Why did you come if not to murder my king? I came to steal his magus. You can't, said the magus in question. I can steal anything, Eugenides corrected him, even with one hand.
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When we opened the doors, we saw that the entire room was scorched black and you were on the floor possibly dead, surrounded by broken glass. Window glass is expensive, you realize that? Yes, Your Majesty, he said meekly.
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Today, she had yielded the sovereignty of her country to Eugenides, who had given up everything he had ever hoped for, to be her King.
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Rae Carson's heroine is a perfect blend of the ordinary and the extraordinary. I loved her.
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We are taught to treat a practice sword with all the respect of a real weapon, so no thoughtless mistakes are made Oh... In Eddis, we learn to keep tack of the weapon we have in our hand.
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No friend had I made there, but I wasn't with this group to make friends, and besides, he sneered too much. I've found that people who sneer are almost always sneering at me.
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His forehead was covered by wrinkles brought on by a lot of sun and too much frowning.
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Will there be poppy juice in it? Phresine shook her head. Good. My wife and I agreed that only my wine was to be poisoned.
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A thief never makes a noise by accident.
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Who am I, that you should love me? You are My Queen, said Eugenides. She sat perfectly still, looking at him without moving as his words dropped like water into dry earth. Do you believe me? he asked. Yes, she answered. Do you love me? Yes. I love you. And she believed him.
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I am very good at groveling.
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Tell me a story then...keep me occupied. A story?...What makes you think I can tell a story? Insight, said the king, Go on.
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Dying would have been so much easier.
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But there are other words for privacy and independence. They are isolation and loneliness.
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Would you have your hand back, Eugenides? And lose Attolia? And see Attolia lost to the Mede?' Eugenides's eyes were open. In front of his face the floor was littered with tiny bits of glass that glittered in the candlelight. 'You have your answer, Little Thief.
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On the bed, Eugenides stirred restlessly. Upset at the sight of blood? he said. Not my wife, Ornon. Your blood, the ambassador pointed out. Eugenides glanced at the hook on his arm and conceded the point. Yes, he said. He seemed lost in memory. The room was quiet.
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Her queen danced like a flame in the wind, and the mercurial king like the weight at the center of the earth.
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As a ten-year-old boy, the Thief of Eddis could stop a grown man in his tracks with a single look. Where had that look gone?
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