A Conjuring of Light (Shades of Magic, #3)

by V.E. Schwab

People spoke of love as if it were an arrow. A thing that flew quick, and always found its mark. They spoke of it as if it were a pleasant thing, but Maxim had taken an arrow once, and knew it for what it was: excruciating.

A myth without a voice is like a dandelion without a breath of wind. No way to spread the seeds.