What Moves the Dead (Sworn Soldier, #1)

by T. Kingfisher

(Look, if you don’t make a fool of yourself over animals, at least in private, you aren’t to be trusted. That was one of my father’s maxims, and it’s never failed me yet.)

(I am never sure what to think of Americans. Their brashness can be charming, but just when I decide that I rather like them, I meet one that I wish would go back to America, and then perhaps keep going off the far edge, into the sea.)

I did not know how to deal with this sort of death, the one that comes slow and inevitable and does not let go.

Sometimes it’s hard to know if someone is insulting or just an American.

It’s less galling to be mistaken for a man than a woman, for some reason. Probably because no one tries to kiss your hand or bar you from the Royal Mycology Society.

People get hung up on happiness and joy, but fun will take you at least as far and it’s generally cheaper to obtain.

His voice had that light veneer of humor that we all get, because if we don’t pretend we’re laughing, we might have to admit just how broken we are.

if you’re feeling dreadful, it helps to dress well.

The English, in my experience, make an enormous deal about the most minor inconveniences, but if you confront them with something world-shattering, they do not blink.