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Quote by E. Lockhart

“Nothing, I just lie there and wait, and remind myself over and over that it doesn't last forever, that there will be another day and after that, yet another day”

Book:We Were Liars

Work

We Were Liars

In this suspenseful story, a young woman reflects on her privileged upbringing and the mysterious events that occurred during her summers on Martha's Vineyard. The novel delves into the complexities of family dynamics and the lasting impact of secrets kept hidden. more

Author

E. Lockhart

E. Lockhart, born on September 13, 1967, is an American author renowned for her young adult literature. Her works are known for their unique style and popularity among readers. more

“Honest men are so very rare, they are often mistaken for criminals, for rebels, for madmen. What were your crimes, anyway, but to be different?' 'Robbery the first time, and I served seven years. When they caught me again there were eighty-four counts, with fourteen murders.' Cosca cocked an eyebrow. 'But we're you truly guilty?' 'Yes' He frowned for a moment then waved it away. 'Nobody's perfect. Lets leave the past behind us.”

Best Served Cold

Author:Joe Abercrombie

“So he was handsome. That fact did nothing to soften her feelings toward the walking interference she studied across the room.”

International Romantic Suspense Espionage Best Served Cold

Book:Best Served Cold

Source: Best Served Cold

“He had sworn a thousand times to kill her, but Cosca had broken all manner of oaths in his life, and the sight of her brought no rage. Instead what welled up in him was a mixture of worn-out self-pity, sappy joy and, most of all, piercing shame at seeing in her face how far he had fallen. He felt the ache in his nose, behind his cheeks, tears welling in his stinging eyes. For once he was grateful that they were red as wounds at the best of times. If he wept, no once could tell the difference.”

Best Served Cold Cosca A Drink A Drink A Drink

Book:Best Served Cold

Source: Best Served Cold

“The hour of spring was dark at last, sensuous memories of sunlight past, I stood alone in garden bowers and asked the value of my hours. Time was spent or time was tossed, Life was loved and life was lost. I kissed the flesh of tender girls, I heard the songs of vernal birds. I gazed upon the blushing light, aware of day before the night. So let me ask and hear a thought: Did I live the spring I’d sought? It's true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren't lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o'er crests of trees, to none belong; o'er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true... From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.”