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Remembrandt

Book by Robin M. King · 10 quotes · Teen Spy, Spy Novel, Adventure

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Remembrandt Quotes

“The ticket in my hand moved in the slight fall breeze as I staggered back onto my rock. My body shivered. I should have been shocked by the paper in my hand. I should have called Professor Golkov and asked him for answers or more information. I should have just gone back to my dorm and ignored the unfamiliar feeling rising through me. I should have done a lot of things, but I always did what I should. When the foreign feeling spread through me and filled my being, I finally realized what it was. Thrill. I felt like I held the answer to my life’s puzzle in my hands.”

“I stepped closer and studied the oil on canvas. The scene displayed ocean waves tossing a fisherman’s ship to and fro, a crewmember frantically pulling on the sail while twelve other petrified fishermen held onto the ship’s mast or ropes. The boat’s captain remained calm. Only one fisher’s eyes stared unafraid straight at me—the one that resembled the painter himself, like he knew the ending of the story before I did.”

“No one should have to . . . you shouldn’t have to . . . there are some things that are better left forgotten.” His words soothed me. Somehow he saw past the novelty of what I could do, and comprehended the anguish that could be associated with perfect recall—remembering every embarrassment, harsh word, traumatic experience. “You don’t always have to act so tough all the time. I’m here.”

“I wasn’t the violin out of tune anymore. It was like he suddenly came to the piano and played the A so I could tune my string. It felt so right to be next to him, so comfortable. My rapid-beating heart began to slow, and I let my exhausted body lean closer to him. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He stroked the side of my face until, at last, my mind and body gave up the fight of the last two days and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.”

“We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.” “André Berthiaume,” I said. “What?” he asked. “The French writer who said that.” Mr. Daly smiled and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by now that you’ve read that somewhere. What he meant is that being an operative is a mask we wear, a job we do. It’s not exactly who we are, but it’s always a part of us too. If I stopped being a handler tomorrow, some piece of me would always be on a mission.” I thought about that for a minute. “So what you’re saying is now that I’m an operative, there’s no turning back?” “No.” He sat up straight and leaned closer to the railing. His voice came out with a quiet intensity. “What I’m saying is that it was already a part of you before you even got here.”