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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.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Total
None
Broken
Pieces
Many
Made
Scarred
Mortals
Gods

More quotes by R.L. LaFevers

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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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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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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.
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When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.
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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 are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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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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In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.
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You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.
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It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.
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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, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
R.L. LaFevers
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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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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.
R.L. LaFevers
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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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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
R.L. LaFevers
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The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
R.L. LaFevers
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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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When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
R.L. LaFevers