“Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we feel alone? Why are we sad and confused? Why do we read poetry? Why do we cry when we see a painting? Why is there a riot in the heart when we love? Why do we feel shame? What is that thing in the pit of your stomach called desire?”
“I like the way I feel about myself when I’m with him.“ I say quietly. "Warner thinks I’m strong and smart and capable and he actually values my opinion. He makes me feel like his equal–like I can accomplish just as much as he can, and more. And if I do something incredible, he’s not even surprised. He expects it. He doesn’t treat me like I’m some fragile little girl who needs to be protected all the time.”
“There are different kinds of darkness,” Rhys said. I kept my eyes shut. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful.” I pictured each. “There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”
“I’ve learned that a storm isn’t always just bad weather, and a fire can be the start of something. I’ve found out that there are a lot more shades of gray in this world than I ever knew about. I’ve learned that sometimes, when you´re afraid but you keep on moving forward, that’s the biggest kind of courage there is. And finally, I’ve learned that life isn’t really about failure and success. It’s about being present, in the moment when big things happen, when everything changes, including myself.”
Lucien’s metal eye narrowed, as if he could sense the lie. But I looked up at Tamlin, and brushed my hand over his mouth. My bare, empty skin. “You’re real,” I said. “You freed me.” It was an effort not to turn my hands into claws and rip out his eyes. Traitor—liar. Murderer.
“You freed yourself,” Tamlin breathed. He gestured to the house. “Rest—and then we’ll talk. I … need to find Ianthe. And make some things very, very clear.”
“I—I want to be a part of it this time,” I said, halting when he tried to herd me back into that beautiful prison. “No more … No more shutting me out. No more guards. Please. I have so much to tell you about them—bit and pieces, but … I can help. We can get my sisters back. Let me help.”
Help lead you in the wrong direction. Help bring you and your court to your knees, and take down Jurian and those conniving, traitorous queens. And then tear Ianthe into tiny, tiny pieces and bury them in a pit no one can find.
“God.“ He shook his head, mouth twisting into a shadow of a smile. "Did you know… you make me so happy that sometimes I actually forget to breathe? I’ll be looking at you, and my chest will get so tight… and it’s like, the only thought in my head is how much I want to reach over and kiss you.”
Super Fabulous YA Lit Meme: [1/5] Protagonists
•Alec Lightwood (The Mortal Instruments Series)•
“It’s not like it’s one big bad thing. It’s a lot of little invisible things. When Magnus and I were traveling, and I’d call from the road, Dad never asked how he was. When I get up to talk in Clave meetings, no one listens, and I don’t know if that’s because I’m young or if it’s because of something else. I saw Mom talking to a friend about her grandchildren and the second I walked into the room they shut up. Irina Cartwright told me it was a pity no one would ever inherit my blue eyes now.” He shrugged and looked toward Magnus, who took a hand off the wheel for a moment to place it on Alec’s. “It’s not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It’s a million little paper cuts every day.”
“Great. My brother got Alexei to spy on me. Grandpa and Ms. Chancellor have you. I am covered!” “Grace, don’t —” Noah reaches for my arm, but I push him away. “How did you find me?” I ask. “We followed you,” Rosie says, matter-of-fact. “No.” I shake my head. “Not good enough. I’ve been wandering these tunnels for hours. I wasn’t even sure where I was, so how did you find me?” I look from Noah to Rosie and then, finally, I let my gaze settle on Megan. “We might have put a tracker on you,” she says. “You might have what?”
“We were sort of …” Noah is struggling for words. “You’re freaking us out,” Megan says bluntly. “You’re worried about me?” I ask.
Coach pointed beside me. “All right, Patch. Let’s say you’re at a party. The room is full of girls of all different shapes and sizes. You see blonds, brunettes, redheads, a few girls with black hair. Some are talkative, while others appear shy. You’ve found one girl who fits your profile-attractive, intelligent, and vulnerable. How do you let her know you’re interested?” "Single her out. Talk to her.“ "Good. Now for the big question-how do you know if she’s game or if she wants you to move on?” "I study her,“ Patch said. "I figure out what she’s thinking and feeling. She’s not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold my eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?” Laughter rose in the room. I dropped my hands to my lap. "She’s game,“ said Patch, bumping my leg again. Of all things, I blushed.