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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
R.L. LaFevers
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R.L. LaFevers
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More quotes by R.L. LaFevers
He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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And so it is with us we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.
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I am sorry,' he whispers. 'I am sorry I treated you so ill. I thought only to protect Duval.' 'It was not I who was poisoning him,' I say. 'No, but you had stolen his heart and I was afraid you would rip it from his chest when you left.
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You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
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He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. Who are you? I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. Vengeance, I say softly.
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God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.
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I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.
R.L. LaFevers