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“He hadn't written the book, but he was in it. He had literally travelled within its pages, and somehow, those pages reached out for him even now. They reached in some ephemeral way, wound so closely around simple hope that in the next moment he could convince himself that hope was all he had ever been. But no. It was here.” — Mark Lawrence
He hadn't written the book, but he was in it. He had literally travelled within its pages, and somehow, those pages reached out for him even now. They reached in some ephemeral way, wound so closely around simple hope that in the next moment he could convince himself that hope was all he had ever been. But no. It was here.