Quotes from Elizabeth Bear

His laugh came forth as a voiceless sob.

The patchwork bard's cloak he swung around his shoulders smelled of smoke and sweet resin and strong whiskey, so every time he inhalted it was though the Devil's hand traced his spine.

Goddamn it, I am sick of watching people I like get killed. I like get killed. I am even sicker of getting people I like killed. It's not an acquired taste, let me tell you, every drink is bitter as the last. And they never get easier to swallow.

For a moment, Garrett permitted herself a frown at the waste of talent, though she could not say if it was because of the artistry was wasted on a maid, or because an artist was wasted as one.

Sebastien was already leaning in, drawn by the enticing heat of blood, when he recollected himself and jerked back.

You dress in shadows, brother, but there is starlight in your eyes.

He was shining dark, and exceeding fair: beautiful and awful, his long hands pale as bones against the red velvet of his coat.

I see what Gabe sees in her, the fracturing brilliance of intellect concealed beneath that quiet exterior. There's someone in there, someone as deep as Lake Ontario and sharp as a switchblade, unconventional and oddly ruthless.

Her fingertips brushed the cool nanomesh of Perceval's parasite wing, and she jerked it back with a gasp, sucking her fingertips as if she'd burned them.

Salisbury pushed the heavy door a little more open and came forward, the sleeves of his black robe rippling in the cold breeze from the window.

The same radiance that netted and shrouded Will twisted around Baines as well, knotted in his hands, drawn up to his chest.

Who cleans up the messes selfish people make? Someone has to.

Don't you wonder who you'd be without the clade? Without Judicial Recon? Without rightminding?

Jane cupped her coffee in both hands and blew across the steam so it curled from her lips like a musing dragon's breath.

Arms folded across her rib cage, chin drifted, Perceval could have been a statue labeled defiance.

All stories are true stories, or so Will tells me.

We can't help putting down roots. The best we can do is lie to ourselves about it.

You know, the more upset you are, the more sarcastic you get.

Conversation was more interesting than one man droning on and on. It held the audience better. And Danilaw would have used puppets if he thought it would get his cabinet to pay attention.

Darling, you're ridiculous. Drink.

He had, I thought, Morgan's hands: strong-fingered, capable.

Apparently Farweather was going to keep talking no matter what.

I've got to give Wainwright credit. She doesn't say I told you so. She doesn't even think it real loud, although the vertical line over her shapely little nose advertises restrained wrath. The funny thing is, I don't think she's angry with me.

Real sorcery was not particularly spectacular, despite the flash and gunpowder one might see devoted to making ritual convincing when it came to stage plays.