More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Nightmares are lessons,” his mother Aurora had told him once. “They feel wrong because you know what’s right.” “Nightmares are bitches,” his father, Niall, had told him once. “Let them smile at you, boy, but do not get their numbers.” “Nightmares are chemical,” his boyfriend, Adam, had told him once. “Inappropriate adrenaline response to stimulus, possibly related to trauma.” “Talk dirty to me,” Ronan had replied.
“I can’t touch bad art.” Hennessy gestured to a sailor with unevenly painted eyes. “It will rub off on me. What a way to lose my powers.” Without malice, Bryde observed, “If I had the same policy about dreamers, you wouldn’t be here.”
To dream. To dream: urgently, purposefully. To dream: with other dreamers. That enormous, warm feeling was charging up inside Ronan again, big enough now that he could tell what it was: Belonging.
