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Quote by Sylvain Reynard

“It isn't God who's evil-it's us.......Everyone wants to know where evil comes from and why the world is riddle with it. Why doesn't anyone ask where goodness comes from? Human beings have a tremendous capacity for cruelty. Why is there any goodness at all? Why are people like Grace and Richard so kind? Because there's a God, and he hasn't allowed the earth to be entirely corrupted. There are sticky like leaves, if you look for them. And when you recognize them, you can feel his presence.”

Quote by Sylvain Reynard

Book:Gabriel's Rapture
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Gabriel's Rapture

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Sylvain Reynard
Sylvain Reynard

Sylvain Reynard is a French author known for his romantic novels, characterized by complex emotional entanglements and profound character development. more

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“Scarlett lived by the (thankfully) ancient medical creed: If it tastes awful and smells worse, it’s probably good for you. Julia wasn’t so sure about that. She lived by the edict: If it tastes awful and smells worse, leave it the hell alone. On the other hand, if it tasted good and smelled better, you either ate it, squirted it on your neck or fucked it. It hadn’t led her wrong so far.”

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“Der Rest ihres Verstandes explodierte in hunderttausend grellbunten, ohrenbetäubenden Lichtpunkten, ein Feuerwerk der Empfindungen, während dieser unendlichen Sekunden der Vereinigung mit Nisha. Und dann begannen die Glocken zu läuten, laut und wild, vibrierten tief in ihr, brachten ihr Innerstes zum Klingen. Doch erst als sie aus weiter Entfernung eine Stimme hörte, eine vertraute, geliebte Stimme, die ihren Namen rief und völlig aufgelöst klang, sickerte allmählich in Julias angeschlagenes Bewusstsein, dass das Feuerwerk und das Glockenläuten nicht nur in ihrem Inneren stattfanden. Das neue Jahr hatte angefangen und wurde von den Leuten in den Straßen frenetisch gefeiert.”

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“He ran his knuckles over her cheek as their gazes met and held. So much. He had been given so much. The sound of their daughters’ high-pitched laughter drew their gazes away from each other nd toward their children. The girls came running toward them, breathless and excited. Their hair was messed in tousled disarray, their gowns were smeared with dirt, their skin was flushed and rosy. They leaped onto the blanket, tumbling over each other like exuberant puppies as they wrapped their chubby arms about his neck. “Papa, Papa, we want a new game!” Morgan thought for a moment, overcome with a profound sense of gratitude. Of all he had been given, perhaps the most significant gift was a deep reverence for life, with all its pain and all its glory. Every loss had meaning. And every day was a new reason for celebration.”

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“A few blocks farther on, we found Terminus, his World War I greatcoat peppered with shrapnel holes, his nose broken clean off his marble face. Crouching behind his pedestal was a little girl—his helper, Julia, I presumed—clutching a steak knife. Terminus turned on us with such fury I feared he would zap us into stacks of customs declaration forms. “Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled. “My borders have failed. I hope you’ve brought help.” I looked at the terrified girl behind him, feral and fierce and ready to spring. I wondered who was protecting whom. “Ah…maybe?” The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!” “Or this statue!” said Julia.”

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Book:The Tyrant’s Tomb
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