Quotes from Rachel Hartman

Keeping my smile raised like a shield between us, I curtsied and quit the room.

But are you finding monastic history a very compelling reason to live?" "I'm not human," he said. "I don't require a reason to live. Living is my default condition." I couldn't help it; I laughed, and teas weleld in my eyes. That answer was quintessentially Orma, distilled to his elemental Orma-ness.

Your credo goes further than you realized: walk on, yes, but don't walk past people who need you. Uncurl yourself so you can see them and respond.

Someone should love you. I will bite him if he will not.

It matters less where you go than that you keep moving.

And I realized a wondrous truth: that knowledge could be our treasure, that there were things humankind knew that we did not, that our conquest need not comprise taking and killing, but could consist of our mutual conquest of ignorance and distrust.

I saw the void beneath the surface of the world; it threatened to pull me under.

Metaphor is awkward, but emotion, by its nature, leaves you no more scalable approach.

This is my mind's garden, I tend it; I order it. I have nothing to fear.

Orma had given me a timepiece that emitted blasphemy-inducing chirps at whatever early hour I specified.

One foot in front of the other was all she could manage.

You can't walk away without also walking towards.

emotions fly humans toward art

Dying took commitment. It was easier to go on living incompetently.

We curl around our own pain until we can't see beyond ourselves. You want to walk on? Walk out of that shadow.

How did you stand lying about yourself for years? You must have felt cut off from the whole world." I fought down the lump in my throat. "I did indeed. And then I met this prince who seemed able to see through me, to the truth behind the lies. He was terrifying and fascinating, but to my amazement, it was an immeasurable relief to be seen.

Sometimes everyone does their best and things still go wrong.

Why live in fear that he might find me disgusting someday, when I could make it happen right now?

Orma moved a pile of books off a stool for me but seated himself directly on another stack. This habit of his never ceased to amuse me. Dragons no longer hoarded gold; Comonot's reforms had outlawed it. For Orma and his generation, knowledge was treasure. As dragons through the ages had done, he gathered it and then he sat on it.

Claude rubs the back of his neck and wrinkles his nose, about to tell me he was never sad. I believe this is called bravado and is not limited to lawyers, or even men, although that combination makes it almost unavoidable.

That's the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark; but play boldly and no one will question you.

Fond and protective equals love? I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

For a fleeting instant, in the sad curve of his shoulders, I saw what Comonot could not: the core of decency; the weight he had carried so long; the endless struggle to do right in the wake of this irreversible wrong; the grieving husband and frightened father; the author of all those love songs. For the first time, I understood.

He sighed. "So I've gone and revealed how much I admire your work for nothing. Now you'll feel free to laze about self-importantly, I suppose!" "Viridius, no," I said, stepping toward him and impulsively kissing his balding head. "I'm well aware that that's your job." "Damned right," he grumpily. "And I've earned it, too.