Carry On (Simon Snow, #1)

by Rainbow Rowell

“You’ve slain a dragon, Simon. Surely you can manage a long walk and a few buses.”

Ew. Sounds like Dunbledore.

Nobody knows why my magic is the way it is. Why it goes off like a bomb instead of flowing through me like a fucking stream or however it works for everybody else.

The Mage used to say that maybe someday he’d let me spend summers at Watford—or maybe even spend them with him, wherever he goes all summer. But then he decided I was better off spending part of every year with the Normals. To stay close to the language and to keep my wits about me: “Let hardship sharpen your blade, Simon.”

Definitely too much like Dumbledore

“Also, I felt sorry for you,” she said. “You were holding your wand backwards.”

She reminds me of Annabeth Chase

MAGIC SEPARATES US FROM THE WORLD; LET NOTHING SEPARATE US FROM EACH OTHER.

When I was younger, I thought the Mage lived in the woods when he was away, eating nuts and berries and sleeping in badger dens.

You like to demand explanations and then tell everyone why their explanations are crap.

(You have to pretend that you get an endgame. You have to carry on like you will; otherwise, you can’t carry on at all.)

Penelope thinks my hand-me-down wand is part of the reason my spellwork is such shit—my wand isn’t bound to me by blood.

Its giving Neville Longbottom. I need to stop comparing this to Harry Potter.

And when I felt myself slipping too far, I held on to the one thing I’m always sure of— Blue eyes. Bronze curls. The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire.

“I know the official answer, Simon—thanks. In America, they think that you become more powerful the more magic you use.” “Just like fossil fuels.”

Literally just laughed for 5 minutes straight

Those were my fifth-year fantasies: kisses and blood and Snow ridding the world of me.

No one had to tell me I was a vampire: I remembered being bitten, I grew up with the same horror stories everyone else did—then I woke up one day craving blood. And no one had to tell me not to take it from another person.

Out loud.

Say it. Out loud. Vampire.

“Or a vampire named Gampire,” I say.

I- Gampire?!

Marry her. Give her the keys to whatever she wants keys to. Then find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts a different way.

My boy is obsessed

(Crowley, could you imagine vampire babies? What a nightmare.)

I can, thanks. We don't need a repeat of Resume.

My road to hell isn’t paved with good intentions—or bad—it’s just my road.

I know Simon and I will always be enemies … But I thought maybe we’d get to a point where we didn’t want to be.

Snow’s table manners are atrocious—it’s like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you’d like to slip the tongue.

It’s nothing like Ebb’s laugh—Nicodemus laughs like nothing matters; Ebb laughs like everything does.

I think I might kiss him before I send him flying. (Can I get him away from me without breaking any of his bones? What spell will keep him away, so he doesn’t come running back into the fire?) I think I might kiss him. He’s right here. And his lips are hanging open (mouth breather) and his eyes are alive, alive, alive. You’re so alive, Simon Snow. You got my share of it. He shakes his head, and he’s saying something, and I think I might kiss him. Because I’ve never kissed anyone before. (I was afraid I might bite.) And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but him. (I won’t bite. I won’t hurt him.)

He’s not a monster. He’s just a villain. He’s not a villain. He’s just a boy. I’m kissing a boy.

I am going to die kissing Simon Snow. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me. Just not today.

If Penelope were here, I’d tell her she’s wrong about me. She thinks I solve everything with my sword. But apparently, I can also solve things with my mouth—because, so far, every time I lean into Baz, he shuts up and closes his eyes.

“He’s afraid of the wraiths,” he told her.

Ill always love them because of Nuala and Cerridwen from ACOTAR

“Do you think Penny is right? That it was your mother’s murderer who hired the numpties?”

Why do i have a sinking feeling that the Mage is his mothers murderer and his kidnapper

“I’m just saying,” I say, turning a bit more, “that I don’t know how to be your boyfriend. And I don’t think you’d want that from me.” “Fine,” he says. “Understood.” “And I know that you think we’re doomed—Romeo-and-Juliet style.” “Completely,” he says to his knees. “And I don’t think I’m gay,” I say. “I mean, maybe I am, at least partly, the part that seems to be demanding the most attention right now …”

Simon is screwing this up spectacularly

Baz looks up at me, and his cheeks look fuller than normal. He smiles then, and I see them—long white fangs, trying to push out over both his lips. “Wicked,” I whisper, trying to look closer. He pushes me back, but not far. “Open your mouth again,” I say. “Let me see.” He sighs and pulls back his lips. His fangs are huge. And they look so sharp. “Where do they even come from? Like, where do they go when you’re not using them?” “I don’t know.” He sounds kind of like he’s wearing braces.

AGATHA

I cant stand her 😒

Except for once, four years ago, when we snuck out on Christmas Eve to track werewolves through Soho.

I honestly thought Soho was in Cali or NY....

Have fun hanging out with a vampire, Simon! Good job making your life even more stupid and dangerous.)

Good lord please shut up

I think she prefers Simon.)

As she should

“What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.” He tries to kiss me, but I hold back—“And you like that?” “I love it,” he says. “Why?” “Because we match.”

“It was the Mage who had you kidnapped,” he says. He keeps moving forward, and I keep stepping back. “And the Mage who let the vampires into Watford.”

I KNEW IT

“You were the centre of my universe,” I say. “Everything else spun around you.”

I never thought there was a path that would lead here, a fourth-floor flat with two bedrooms and a kettle and a grey-eyed vampire sitting on the couch, messing with his new phone.