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368 pages, Hardcover
First published January 29, 2014
"It's Romeo. He'd swoon over a dancing bear if it wore a skirt."
"I love Rosaline", Romeo said. "One risks anything for love"
Mercutio gave him a disbelieving stare, then turned to me. "You actually let this infant out in the streets, Ben? On his own?"
"I smiled, feeling fierce and free and wild in ways that no one would ever believe of the quiet, solid, responsible Benvolio Montague. At night I could be something else than what my city, my station, and my family required."
"There was a wilderness trembling inside me that begged to let fly, and let the arrows fall as random as rain."
"There is no freedom, Benvolio; you should give up that folly now. This city is made of stone, and the stones will press us down, and down, cutting off all light and hope until dark is the only light you will ever see."
It's Romeo. He'd swoon over a dancing bear if it wore a skirt.
Love is the curse.
I stood in the dark corner of my enemy's house, and thought of murder.
“Perhaps one day I’d be made a saint—the patron saint of fools and lovers, if those terms were not exactly the same.”
"There is secret power in being thought weak, and a fool, as women are so often see; when I lied, I did so without a quiver, and no one looked more closely."
"Romeo had ever been a follower of Venus, but this... There was something new in his face, his eyes, in the bend of his shoulders towards hers, and the clasp of their hands. I saw it mirrored in her, blinding and beautiful but also dangerously fanatical."
I thought I’d known the depths of cruelty men hid, but this . . . this was another thing entire. I’d known all our lives that we were fragile, easily punctured flesh, but seeing the boy choke on that noose, seeing the laughter and jeers from those who’d killed him . . . hearing the thumps as rocks pelted his dying body . . . that had shattered something within me, something I did not know was so precious.
I hadn’t known I had innocence left in me until I’d felt it die.
“Romeo had never clapped eyes upon the Capulet maiden Juliet until he saw her at the feast where the Capulets would celebrate her betrothal to Count Paris,” I said. “Is it then sensible that he formed such a close attachment that he would marry her in only days? Or that he would linger in Verona past his exile to stay in her embrace, when he knew well his life was forfeit?"