Feversong (Fever, #9)

by Karen Marie Moning

Those that fail to protect themselves deserve any harm that befalls them. You are your own kingdom. Guard it. Or lose it.

The wound you refuse to dress is one that will never heal. You gush lifeblood and never even

know why. It will make you weak at a critical moment when you need to be strong.

Grief was a silenced wail that had no beginning or end, just a long, agonizing middle.

The most critical, defining battles we wage

in life, we wage alone. Against ourselves.

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell. We stand in front of those two possible apertures at all times; choose which one to go through.

It was possible to love someone who was completely wrong for you. You could waste your entire life loving that person, doing enormous damage to each other and the world around you.

R-E-G-R-E-T. I can spell that word now. Raw. Endless. Grief. Raining. Eternal. Tears. That’s what regret is.