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I know that tone like I know the back of my hand, and I know where it’s going: Lectureville on a runaway train.
chasing butterflies with nets, but we don’t catch them, because who wants to trap a butterfly in a net? Too fragile, too delicate. You don’t want to break their wings. Like sisters and love. You have to be vigilant with precious things.
Don’t confuse intensity of emotion with quality of emotion, baby, when I’d gotten tangled up with class heartbreaker Tommy Ralston. The more he’d hit on my girlfriends, the harder I’d worked to keep him. It was like I was addicted to whatever made me feel most intensely, even though it was hurting me. Pain is not love, Mac. Love makes you feel good.
Ban Drochaid,
“Don’t lose yourself in anger, Mac. It’s gasoline. You can burn it as fuel, or you can use it to torch everything you care about and end up standing on a scorched battlefield, with everybody dead, even you—only your body doesn’t have the good grace to quit breathing.”
Strength wasn’t about being able to do everything alone. Strength was knowing when to ask for help and not being too proud to do it.
“You would feel safer in one of those conveyances that frequently plummet?” “Not that frequently.”
“Did he bother pointing out that everything the king had done, he’d done for her? Did she think of that before she decided to kill herself? Did it ever occur to her that sometimes a willingness to turn dark for someone else might just be a fucking virtue?”
No lights, alone in a city of monsters, with an ancient, sentient receptacle of pure evil somewhere in my immediate vicinity but no longer detectable by me, and with no clue what to do next.
Miles of uncharted stupid stretched on both sides of the line on which I stood.
like that in your entire existence, huh, O Ancient One? I bet I rocked your perfectly disciplined little world. I hope wanting me hurts like hell!”
The person who truly lives has precious few moments of safety, learns to thrive in any kind of storm.
Just look at those gallóglaigh MacRorys and MacSweenys, breeding with the Norse and Picts!
“Gallowglass,” Kat clarified for me. “Mercenary warriors of a sort.”
the heart had reasons of which reason knew nothing, the only quote of Pascal’s
“Are you going to eat that?” “Not for love or money,” he said vehemently.
I was alone at the moment of being born and at the moment of dying. Nobody came with you and nobody went with you. It was a journey of one.
The thing was one link in a chain away from total insanity.
