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In Fillory you felt the appropriate emotions when things happened. Happiness was a real, actual, achievable possibility. It came when you called. Or no, it never left you in the first place.
The real problem with being around James was that he was always the hero. And what did that make you? Either the sidekick or the villain.
It was like finding a clue that somebody you’d buried and mourned wasn’t really dead after all.
God, why is everybody else in the world but us so fucking stupid?”
But perfection is a nervy business, because the moment you spot the tiniest flaw it’s ruined.
“The problem with growing up,” Quentin said, “is that once you’re grown up, people who aren’t grown up aren’t fun anymore.”
I got my heart’s desire, he thought, and there my troubles began.
On cue Peggy Lee wandered through the opening verse of “Is That All There Is?” on the stereo. Which would be worse, Quentin wondered. If Richard was right, and there was an angry moral God, or if Eliot was right, and there was no point at all? If magic was created for a purpose, or if they could do whatever they wanted with it? Something like a panic attack came over him. They were really in trouble out here. There was nothing to hang on to. They couldn’t go on like this forever.