Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)

by Rainbow Rowell

There is no end. Bad things happen, and then they stop, but they keep on wreaking havoc inside of people.

It’s sitting in economy that’s making us gay.

If you can’t trust people with nose rings to be open-minded, who’s left?

“Living is dying,”

Do they really think they can cheat death with tropical juices and positive thinking?

I don’t see why I should go looking for pain and trouble in my childhood, especially things my head has already taped off. I’ve got enough pain and trouble on my plate.

Better to assume I’m always right and occasionally be wrong than to fiddle about doubting myself all the time, saying to everyone, “Yes, but what do you think?”

Everyone around me wasted years trying to fall in love. I wasted nothing! I’d crossed it off my list.

I’m encouraged that most Americans seem to realize this part of the country is blighted and have settled elsewhere.

“Mavericks and terrorists,” the Mage said. “No sense of community, no common goals. Half of them using their magic to wash the dishes, half of them living like debauched sultans.

“My heart is always with the rebels, Simon, in any struggle. But America is a failed experiment. A chaos country where mages have lost all sense of themselves. Where they live off the Normals like parasites—like dark creatures.”

(Silverado, Tahoe, Tundra. Everyone gets it, America, you’re very American.)

I gave up meat when I left England, as well as any animal by-product that isn’t freely given—but these people will scrape your whole plate into the trash if you let them.

It takes so much magic to stay alive in America.

The old me thought she would always prevail because she was always right. I’d like some of that confidence back now—even if it did come with a heaping helping of ignorance.

How have I lived through so many happy endings without ever learning how to save the day?

My job is getting up. My job is going down. With a fight.