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Quote by Brigid Kemmerer

“You know what sucks about sorry? It's the worst word in the world. Because it always happens after you fuck up something good.”

Quote by Brigid Kemmerer

Book:Secret
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Secret

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Brigid Kemmerer

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“It felt like being shot with an arrow, and Will jerked back. His wineglass crashed to the floor and shattered. He lurched to his feet, leaning both hands on the table. He was vaguely aware of stares, and the landlords anxious voice in his ear, but the pain was too great to think through, almost too great to breathe through. The tightness in his chest, the one he had thought of as one end of a cord tying him to Jem, had pulled so taut that it was strangling his heart. He stumbled away from his table, pushing through a knot of customers near the bar, and passed to the front door of the inn. All he could think of was air, getting air into his lungs to breathe. He pushed the doors open and half-tumbled out into the night. For a moment the pain in his chest eased, and he fell back against the wall of the inn. Rain was sheeting down, soaking his hair and clothes. He gasped, his heart stuttering with a misture of terror and desperation. Was this just the distance from Jem affecting him? He had never felt anything like this, even when Jem was at his worst, even when he'd been injured and Will had ached with sympathetic pain. The cord snapped. For a moment everything went white, the courtyard bleeching through as if with acid. Will jackknifed to his knees, vomiting up his supper into the mud. When the spasms had passed , he staggard to his feet and blindly away from the inn, as if trying to outpace his own pain. He fetched up against the wall of the stables, beside the horse trough. He dropped to his knees to plunge his hands into the icy water-and saw his own reflection. There was his face, as white as death, and his shirt, and a spreading stain of red across the front. With wet hands he siezed at his lapels and jerked the shirt open. In the dim light that spilled from the inn, he could see that his parabati rune, just over his heart, was bleeding. His hands were covered in blood, blood mixed with rain, the same ran that was washing the blood away from his chest, showing the rune as it began to fade from black to silver, changing all that had been sense in Will's life into nonsense. Jem was dead.”

SadnessWill Herondale
Book:Clockwork Princess
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“The world would be a better place if more men were focused on building a meaningful legacy instead of building their need for Instant gratification and a myriad of sexual partners. Men have the power to build their own legacy that'll help not only their great grandchildren but also the WORLD! If men could only understand they have the ability to instill this BEING within themselves, the world would be a better place. As women our job from here on out should be to teach our kids how to build something that outlives them. I know I am living to be an example of that and make moves for not j-”

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Author:Minel Powell
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“The world would be a better place if more men were focused on building a meaningful legacy instead of building their need for Instant gratification and a myriad of sexual partners. Men have the power to build their own legacy that'll help not only their great grandchildren but also the WORLD! If men could only understand they have the ability to instill this BEING within themselves, the world would be a better place. As women our job from here on out should be to teach our children how to build something that outlives them, even if they are all grown up.”

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Author:Minel Powell
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“One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, "We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like an empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life." The Fog Horn blew.”

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Book:The Fog Horn
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