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“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed. "Above such brutality, are you?" "We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly. "Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit - " "There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!" snarled Voldemort. "You are quite wrong," said Dumbledore, speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks. "Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness.”

“You do not settle whether an argument is justified by merely showing that it is of some use. The distinction is not between useful and useless experiments but between barbarous and civilized behaviour. Vivisection is a social evil because if it advances human knowledge, it does so at the expense of human character.”

“You do not take a person who, for years, has been hobbled by chains and liberate him, bring him up to the starting line of a race and then say, "you are free to compete with all the others," and still justly believe that you have been completely fair. We seek not just legal equity but human ability, not just equality as a right and a theory but equality as a fact and equality as a result.”

“You do not understand what has happened to you… what I did to you.” he said sternly. Cold fright swelled in her stomach. What happened after she felt the pain? It was all blank. “What did you do to me?” She whispered. “You are a wolf now, Violet. A part of our pack.” “What? What the hell do you mean I’m a wolf?” She demanded. “You are half wolf, a Skin Walker. In human words… I believe you say werewolf.”

“You do not understand what you have done to me. The sky inside me gets a little more colorful, every time I see you. A little more feather gets added to my weak wings, every time you touch me. It is hard for me to let you go now after seeing how beautiful the sky inside me can get and how strong my wings can become when you are around me.”

“You do not yield. Aelin slammed her hand into the lid. Cairn paused. Aelin pounded her fist into the iron again. Again. You do not yield. Again. You do not yield. Again. Again. Until she was alive with it, until her blood was raining onto her face, washing away the tears, until every pound of her fist into the iron was a battle cry. You do not yield. It rose in her, burning and roaring, and she gave herself wholly to it. Over and over, she pounded against the lid. Over and over, that song of fire and darkness flared through her, out of her, into the world. You do not yield And when she awoke chained on the altar, she beheld what she had done to the iron coffin. The top of the lid had been warped. A great hump now protruded, the metal stretched thin. As if it had come so very close to breaking entirely.”