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This book is for all the exiles: the displaced, the refugee, the stateless; the abandoned and the abandoner; those made desolate and those cast free.
like her, Twenty Cicada touched the ship, but he touched it like he was longing for space to come in and take his hand.
The Perilous Frontier! fit in her inside jacket pocket like it was a political pamphlet. Exactly the same size. That was interesting, in and of itself. Even if it turned out to be a horribly dull story, that was interesting.
Comic books as a political statement ... who'd thought?
don’t trust anyone who makes you feel good without knowing why they want you to feel that way.
it was all entirely, completely, and thoroughly legal. She’d signed off on it herself.
Deliberately, she thought in Stationer, We’re not free. And in the same language, Yskandr agreed: <There’s no such fucking thing.>
Memory lasts.
Nine Hibiscus would have skipped that one, wide broadcast felt too risky. Even graveyards could be haunted by the things that made graves.
Remember me? I’m the Emperor, just in kid shape.
Mahit realized that she and Three Seagrass were going to have to start all over again. Back to the beginning. Back to let’s assume that I’m not going to try to sabotage you and let’s assume I’m not an idiot.
Asking was a way of not telling a secret. That was a useful thing to know.)
You are a dangerously ambitious child,
That’s the way we fall—being wanted.
Eight Antidote was very sure he was being manipulated, over more than six jumpgates and five and a half hours of time—but it was so strange and refreshing to be manipulated by being earnestly told the truth. He needed to learn that one.
There’s better stars out here than the ones the Empire sees or the Station’s ever thought to look for.
Didn’t want, herself, to be careful. Only to win. She wished she knew what winning would look like—
I promise, he said, meaning it, and not knowing if his promise was a lie.
