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“Your average white liberal might agree with social justice in principle, and yet live quite comfortably as a "winner" in a nation whose social institutions - characterized by political exclusion, exploitation, and unequal access to resources - have systematically made others lose out. But here's the thing. Maybe it's time to get uncomfortable and upset. Maybe those feelings can be acted upon.”

“Your average witch is not, by nature, a social animal as far as other witches are concerned. There's a conflict of dominant personalities. There's a group of ringleaders without a ring. There's the basic unwritten rule of witchcraft, which is 'Don't do what you will, do what I say.' The natural size of a coven is one. Witches only get together when they can't avoid it.”

“Your baby would be better looking than that Brad Pitt kid, Moses or Shiloh or whatever. Hard on the rest of us tadpoles." Leeda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and your babies would be total slouches." When the two were out together, it was Murphy who had the freakish ability to make random guys approach her out of nowhere. Once she had been hit on by a Hare Krishna while they were eating ice cream in the East Village. She could bend spoons with the sheer force of her curves. "Do you ever want a boyfriend again?" Leeda mused. "I have boyfriends." "You have boys. Not boyfriends. Heartbreaker.”

“Your background may not be the best. Your past may have been the worst. Your family may not have wealth. Your surroundings may seem useless, but do not focus on that. Choose a path of usefulness. Learn as much as you can, fix your eyes on the door of success, and do not relent. You will get there!”

“Your bad actions have more impact & damage than your good ones. When you choose to do or say something good. Few people benefit. But when you choose to do or say something bad. More people suffer. Before trying to make more people suffer by your bad decision making or actions. Remember that your actions in life are a boomerang. Whatever you sent out there will come back to you. That is why it is always good to do good even thou few people might benefit from it.”

“Your badges represent just that: your choice, your conscious choice to place yourselves outside a predefined path; beyond the care of omniscient beings, and into your own capable hands. For a Weaver’s freewill is absolute; a Weaver is a master of their own life; a Weaver creates their own reality – but more importantly – a Weaver is responsible for reality.”

“Your beast's little trick didn't work on me,' she said with quiet steel. 'Apparently, an iron will is all it takes to keep a glamour from digging in. So I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt's house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I'd gone mad- but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn't in my head.' I'd never heard of a glamour not working. But Nesta's mind was so entirely her own; she had put up such strong walls- of steel and iron and ash wood- that even a High Lord's magic couldn't pierce them. 'Elain said- said you went to visit me, though. That you tried.' Nesta snorted, her face grave and full of that long-simmering anger that she could never master. 'He stole you away into the night, claiming some nonsense about the Treaty. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn't right. None of it was right.' My hands slackened at my sides. 'You went after me,' I said. 'You went after me- to Prythian.' 'I got to the wall. I couldn't find a way through.' I raised a shaking hand to my throat. 'You trekked two days there and two days back- through the winter woods?' She shrugged, looking at the sliver she'd pried from the table. 'I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.' 'You did that- for me?' Nesta's eyes- my eyes, our mother's eyes- met mine. 'It wasn't right,' she said again. Tamlin had been wrong when we'd discussed whether my father would have ever come after me- he didn't possess the courage, the anger. If anything, he would have hired someone to do it for him. But Nesta had gone with that mercenary. My hateful, cold sister had been willing to brave Prythian to rescue me. ... I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared- beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely that I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally.”

“Your beauty makes me confused.. Whenever I look at you, I lose myself. I look into your deep eyes and I feel the depth of the ocean, but I love to drown there. When I look at your soft moist lips I feel these are the most beautiful rose Patel When I look at your naughty smile, it looks like a blossoming flower. When I look at the shape of your body, I feel every curve is a masterpiece. I'm confused. What seduces me, what kills me more, is your pretty smile, your deep eyes, your moist lips or your sexy figure. Your beauty makes me confused.. the fire of your beautiful figure is greater or the kindness of your pure soul. But the conclusion is I'm in love with what you have everything all”