More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Evenings at the tavern, as you know, are like fires in a hearth. They live two lives.
More twisted than a librarian’s love life
someday you could do the most ugly things possible in the most beautiful of ways.
“Why don’t the cannons explode?” “They do. That’s what makes the cannonballs shoot out.”
That, it should be noted, made about as much sense as assuming people who live in distant kingdoms must be the most fit, since it takes so long to walk to those places.
It’s beautiful in a way only something so terrifying can inspire, and terrifying in a way that only something so beautiful can demand.
You can’t taste a memory without tainting it with who you have become.
Tress preferred to weaponize her mood swings.
she had already determined that philosophy wasn’t as valuable as she’d assumed—something that takes most great philosophers at least three decades to realize.
memory can make shadows of the now, as nothing can match the buttressed legends of our past.
Each answer hit like an arrow. The barbed kind that hurt going in—but also rip and tear going out. The kind that make you want to leave them in, walking around with wounds that can never heal, for fear of the worse pain of removal.
