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Quote by Mike Norton

“The best way to be appreciative for your life is to live it; don't die for any other reason but love. Dreams are what guide us, art is what defines us, math is makes it all possible, and love is what lights our way.”

Quote by Mike Norton

Book:White Mountain
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White Mountain

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Author

Mike Norton

Mike Norton, born on May 20, 1973, is a talented writer whose works span a variety of styles and themes, winning the hearts of readers. more

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“Oak gave up his room so they could sleep there, and although the bed is small, Cardan cannot mind when he takes Jude in his arms. 'You're probably missing your fancy palace right about now,' she whispers to him in the dark. He traces the edge of her lip, runs his finger over the soft human hair of her cheek, pausing on a freckle and comes to rest on a tiny scar, a line of pale skin drawn there by some blade. He considers explaining how much he despised the palace as a child, how he dreamed of escaping Elfhame. She knows most of that already. Then he considers reminding her that the fancy palace is now as much hers as his. 'Not in the least,' he says instead, and feels her smile against his skin. But once he starts recalling his desire to leave Elfhame, he can't help but also recall how desperately she wanted to stay. And how difficult that had been, how hard she had fought, how hard she was still fighting, even now that she didn't have to. 'Why didn't you hate everyone?' he asks. 'Everyone, all the time.' 'I hated you,' Jude reassures him, bringing her mouth to his.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“He looked down at a red book, embossed in gold. The title was Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass. He frowned at it in confusion. It wasn't what he'd thought a mortal book would be like; he thought they would be dull things, odes to their cars or skyscrapers. ... 'This is really a mortal book?' he asked.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“Cardan had his polished boots resting on a rock and his head pillowed on the utterly ridiculous mortal book he'd been reading. Since the one with the girl and the rabbit and the bad queen, he'd discovered he had a taste for human novels. A hob in the market traded them to Cardan for roses smuggled out of the royal gardens.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“He visited the weavers and tailors with his brother, choosing garments with cuffs of feathers and exquisite embroidery, with collars as sharp as the points of his ears, and fabrics as soft as the tuft of his tail- a tail he tucked away, for it showed too much of what he schooled his face to hide. A poisonous flower displays its bright colours, a cobra flares its hood; predators ought not to shrink from extravagance. And that was what he was being polished and punished in to being.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“He thought of one of those girls frowning over a book, pushing a lock of brown hair back over one oddly curved ear. He thought of the way she looked at him, brows narrowed in suspicion. Scornful and alert. Awake. Alive. He imagined her as a mindless servant and felt a rush of something he couldn't quite untangle- horror, and also a sort of terrible relief. No ensorcelled human could look at him as she did.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The odd curve of her ear was what he had noticed first. A roundness echoed in her cheeks and her mouth. Then it was the way her body looked solid, as though meant to take up space and weight in the world. When she moved, she left behind footprints in the forest floor. Because she didn't know how to glide silently, to disturb no leaf of branch. He felt smug to see how bad she was at even such an easy thing. It was only later that it disturbed him to think back on the shape of her boot in the soil, as though she was the only real thing in a land of ghosts. He had seen her before, he supposed. But at the palace school, he really looked. He noted her skirts, spattered with mud, and her hair ribbons, partially undone. He saw her twin sister, her double, as though one of them were a changeling child and not human at all. He saw the way they whispered together while they ate, smiling over private jokes. He saw the way they answered the instructors, as though they had any right to this knowledge, had any right to be sitting among their betters. To occasionally better their betters with those answers. And the one girl was good with a sword, instructed personally by the Grand General, as though she was not some by-blow of a faithless wife.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The seeds of Prince Cardan's resentment came full bloom. What was the point of her trying so hard? Why would she work like that when it would never win her anything? ... He had never tried like that for anything in his life. Jude, Cardan though, hating even the shape of her name. Jude.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The weight of the sea seemed to pass down on him. He no longer had a sense of up or down. One was always suspended, fighting against the current or giving in to it. There would be no lying on beds of moss, no barbed words easily spoken, no falling down from too much wine, no dancing at all.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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