Quotes from Nicola Griffith

Peretur patted Bony's shoulder, and could not tell if the horse trembled or she did. Was this fear?

Her sister wanted to cry, but she was a woman grown. No one must see her tears, not even her women, for fear of bringing shame on the family name. There was nothing Hild could do. This was Hereswith's wyrd; it had been since Cwenburh's death.

Unusual to find a caterer who knows Caesar's commentary." "You really know how to endear yourself to a girl.

Nothing but the sigh of embers into ash.

She waited patiently, which made him nervous. Royalty were rarely patient unless they were toying with you.

We drove in silence. The only things we knew about each other revolved around the death of a man who had been her friend and I didn't want to talk about that, didn't want to think about murder and men with money.

She smiled to herself at the sudden shyness that fell on the two girls as she walked away.

To learning experiences, even though they suck.

I've heard horror stories of Old Masters wrapped in newspapers and arriving with ghastly copes of the funnies imprinted on a stately old forehead.

The warm breath, the smell of tansy and lavender, the words triggered a surge of something wild she couldn't name

One had to sit still and really quiet to really see, really hear.

It was a good place, a fine place, it should have been her place to belong. Only it was not; Arturus did not want her.

In this light, her hair was the colr of sandstone. She was sandstone: a spire of rock rising from an otherwise featureless desert. No toeholds.

He must find out what the witch woman, the child's mother, was up to with Osric, he of the kingly ambition. He'd heard talk. And this child would soon be living in very dangerous times indeed.

I had not heard her laugh before. It was subtle and warm as swirled brandy.

He laughed when he saw them, swung Begu off his horse and kissed her cheek, bowed to Breguswith and grinned at Hild.

I know how to look after myself; I have the money to buy whatever I need. Neither of these things is any protection for the raw wound that is grief, and this man sat like a sack of sharp salt in the middle of the only safe place I knew.

Mother and daughter were both so rarely wrong they thought they could never be.

Gemæcce, Hild thought, staring at the pattern. She looked up, found Begu looking at her, blushed, looked down again. After a breath of two, she looked up.

To not being nine years old and at the mercy of the world.

His eyes were as liquid as run honey, dark clover honey, and his hair was a rich brown with bronze sun straks, but his beard, like his eyebrows, was black. His face and hands were the colour of walnut, or perhaps elm bark, but lighter where his sleeves rose above his wrists. He was not thick-boned and heavy-muscled like Cei, but whippy as a hazel rod, and she knew she would not face him lightly in battle.

Quiet mouth, bright mind.

My flash, your blue place. I did some reading. Psychology books call it flow. They talk about losing awareness of your surroundings, about being swept up in the tide-not exactly surrender, but a kind of letting go.

She cocked her head slightly as though listening to a voice only she could hear.