Emily Lloyd-Jones Quotes

Planning to keep me in a state of slightly drugged good cheer?"
"Planning to keep you," she said, "regardless of what state you're in.

Ellis smiled, just a little. It wasn't as if Aderyn was not attractive - she was, of course. She reminded him of an ocean - beautiful, with enough salt to kill a man. He suspected it would take a knight or a hero of legend to impress one such as her.

This was the problem with pain, he thought. It refused to be quieted. It devoured, the way flame consumed wood.

I just want to matter,' he said unsmiling.

It was like pulling a curtain back, peering behind a mask made of smiles and quips. This was the real James, this young, bright, desperate thing. There was a burning intensity to his eyes, and she saw for the first time a boy who would sell his heart--not for some hobby, but because he thought it was the only way to life the life he wanted.

They had that in common.

I like to keep my dreams attainable. Eat cheese, sleep on a nice bed, have my work in the same museum as Rothko--the usual.

Home was taste and smell and sensation. It was not a place.

Wars could be won or lost with a map; travellers could lose their way; entire villages could vanish.

The maps were old friends, speaking to him in lines and etchings as clearly as people spoke with words.

The anticipation of the loss hurts nearly as much as the loss itself. You find yourself trying to hold on to every detail, because you'll never have them again.

And perhaps this was the truth about the dead. You went on. They'd want you to.

And perhaps, even back then, Ryn thought that if she could love the monsters - then she could love those monstrous parts of herself.

We're all just moments and most of us don't matter. We study less than one percent of all humanity in our history books.

I grew up thinking monsters could be slain."
"Ah," he said. "And I grew up thinking people were the monsters.

Monsters were unrestrained, unbound, and beautiful in their destruction. They could be slain but they would never be truly defeated.

That is why I take the younger ones, you see. You already give parts of your hearts away so easily--little fragments attached to celebrities, to hobbies, to ill-fated love affairs. Your kind have the best chance at survival.

There was something about siblings - a language that was half memory and half glance. Jests and jibes. They were a tangle of love and resentment, and despite their differences, Ryn knew he would defend her to the death.

Actions fueled by desperation. They were the worst kinds of decisions, because desperate people could see the error of their ways and simply not care. They would rush headlong into a bad situation because they could see no other options.

It was a risk, to love someone. To do so with the full knowledge that they'd leave someday. Then let go of them, when they did.

Maps held no secrets, no intricacies he could not parse. He could know a place far better than he could know a person.

She's a lunatic," says Conrad.
"Absolutely insane," says Guntram.
"Either completely fearless or utterly stupid," says Conrad.
"She's going to fit right in," says Guntram.

Death is not to be feared, but nor can it be forsaken. One must be mindful

She reached down, found his hand with hers.

Their fingers tangled, wrists pressed together.

No pulse between them.

This was how normal people survived their own fairy tales.

They became their own kind of monster.

But she did not say that, because some things could not be said. Not when a person looked cracked open with pain and hope, when a single word might shatter them.

Someone's at the gate," Kit says as he pours another swirl of batter onto the hot skillet. "Ciere, if it's your mob friends, please invite them in for coffee. Just because they're blackmailing you doesn't mean you shouldn't be polite.

This - this was what came after. Living.

She held on, knowing that sometimes that was all a person could do.

I'm a disaster. You know I am. I'm prickly. I prefer dead people to living ones. I'm only good at digging graves and surviving in a forest.

Perhaps one could become used to loss. Or perhaps the grief went so deep that he could not see it.

She became her own knight; she collected those broken promises and whispered apologies and fashioned them into armor

It was always the small words that did a person in.

If I come across a problem, I take my axe to it. Or bury it. I'm good at burying things.

But were they truly victims? If they made a deal, knowing fully what they were trading for a wish--but then again, could a person ever truly know the consequences of giving away their heart?

Warmth kindled in her chest, and she found herself smiling back, charmed by her ability to charm him.

She knew how things died.
And in her darkest moments, she feared she did not know how to live.