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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“I think you’re being melodramatic.” “Aren’t you like the pot calling the kettle black or something?” I asked. “Pardon me, oh great one. I forgot my place as a mere footnote in the history of Sitia.” Talk about being melodramatic. “Is he—” I cut Devlen off. “Annoying? Yes, all the time.” He studied Leif. “You are more...subdued at our house.” “That’s ’cause I’m too busy keeping your daughter out of trouble.” “I take it Reema has Leif wrapped around her little finger?” I asked Devlen. “Hey,” Leif said. “Yes. He needs a child of his own to learn how to not give in to her every demand.” I agreed. “That would certainly mature him. Unless it backfires and Leif regresses. Then poor Mara would have two children to deal with.” “I’m standing right here, ya know.”

“I think you’re confusing the opposite of love with hurt.” “No,” I disagreed. “I know the opposite of love is hate.” “No,” he replied with a headshake. “The opposite of love is indifference. The feeling of emptiness. That’s what the opposite of love is. Love allows you space to feel everything—joy, bliss, sorrow, and pain. Grief is love, Avery. Love and grief go hand in hand.” “Why is that?” “Because grief is the realization that you could care for another so deeply. That your heart could shatter a million ways, all due to how much you adored another. Being able to feel so deeply is a gift, baby girl. It’s the indifference, the inability to feel, that is the curse.” “It’s scary to feel grief…” “It’s even scarier to feel nothing.”

“I think you're going to like these," she said, placing the stack on the table. "The whole class spent Monday and Tuesday painting them up." Raymond and Sean lifted up the top poster and stared. ARSE PRESENTS SUPER HALLOWEEN PARTY FOOD, DRINKS, GREAT MUSIC HALLOWEEN TRAMPOLINE COSTUME CONTEST FOR THE MYSTERY PRIZE DON'T MISS IT! She smiled proudly. "What do you think?" "Nice," said Sean, wondering why Raymond had suddenly gone so silent and so pale. Finally Raymond found his voice. "But Ashly, why does it say" —he pointed to the top line— "that?" "That? That's us. Our initials—Ashly, Raymond, Sean, and Eckerman—I couldn't remember his first name." "I get it," said Sean. Raymond was positively white. "The other kids who worked on them—they didn't—say anything about the posters? The wording maybe?" "The whole class really liked them," said Ashley. "I think everyone's favorite part was the initials thing. They thought it was clever." Raymond looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, it was.”

“i think you're made of flowers how you bloom when there's light on your skin. you feel all that fire in your soul and it's. so. beautiful. but keep letting the sweetness in. let yourself feel the glow. be gentle with your raging heart and softer with your chaos. you are a wild thing, but you are such a tender thing… so maybe let even a little more of that gentle in with how you grow. dig out from the dark what you need to and burn down what you have to but then let yourself light up. let in a little more sweetness and a little more glow… and let yourself feel all the ways you're made of flowers.”

“I think you’re magicians because you’re unhappy. A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his strength. Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you.”

“I think you’re more an archivist than a librarian,” he said. He told me that archivists and librarians were opposite personas. True librarians are unsentimental. They’re pragmatic, concerned with the newest, cleanest, most popular books. Archivists, on the other hand, are only peripherally interested in what other people like, and much prefer the rare to the useful. ”They like everything,” he said, “gum wrappers as much as books.” He said this with a hint of disdain. ”Librarians like throwing away garbage to make space, but archivists,” he said, “they’re too crazy to throw anything out.” ”You’re right,” I said. ”I’m more of an archivist.” ”And I’m more of a librarian,” he said. ”Can we still be friends?”