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Some things were constant in the universe. Two and two didn’t always equal four, but every water-based species at some point had heated water and thrown some plants into it.
When one starts at the bottom, there is no place to go but up.
They all left. That was the basic truth of the life of an innkeeper: guests arrived, walked into your life, and departed, while you stayed behind, never knowing if you would see them again.
I had a feeling that nothing George ever did was spur-of-the-moment. If he ever had a one-night stand, it would probably be meticulously researched and organized.
“You are not meant to be at peace. We, the human beings, are meant to live life to its fullest. We are meant to experience it all—sadness, disappointment, rage, kindness, joy, love. We are meant to test ourselves. It is painful and frightening, but this is what it means to be alive. You are hiding from life here. This isn’t peace. This is a slow, deliberate suicide.”
We make our own choices in life. Our actions shape our lives, and we alone are responsible for them.”
“What are you planning?” I asked as we turned toward the grand ballroom. “Just a small demonstration for the public good,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” “You’re apologizing in advance.” “Yes.” Never a good sign.
The otrokars began to sing, a simple, exuberant melody. I couldn’t understand the words, but the meaning was clear. I live. I survived. I’m here. Breath caught in my chest. I realized with absolute clarity that one day I was going to die. One day I would no longer be here. All the things I wanted, all my thoughts, all my worries—all of it would be gone with me, lost forever. There were so many things I wanted to do. So much I still wanted to see. I had to hold on to it. I had to hold on to every short second of life. Every breath was a gift, gone forever to the cold stars the moment I exhaled.
The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it with honey for dessert.
“Desperation is a fire,” Ruga added. “It burns bright but it must have a chimney, an outlet.”
“It’s not a healthy state of being,” Ruga continued. “You are not designed to function in a state of desperation for a prolonged period of time.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “War is horrible,” Odalon said. “It ruins people.”
Every crime had come to pass because someone had something to gain by it, whether it was money, fame, or emotional satisfaction.
“I asked him if he was leaving anyone behind. He said he’d met a girl with stardust on her robe, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw the universe looking back.”
When the night is long and dark, you picture dawn in your head and you wait for it. It sustains you and gives you hope. In a war you search through your memories and you find that one thing, that anchor that tethers you to home. You are that to him. You are everything that is clean and peaceful and beautiful. You are someone who would cry if she heard he died.
I try not to form friendships.” “Because you might have to kill people you know?”
“You see,” he said, his intimate voice filled with regret, “the living lie. They can’t help it. They lie out of kindness, necessity, and self-interest. But the dead always tell the truth.”
“There are only three motives for murder. Sex. Revenge.” I paused. “And greed.”
