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Observant Quotes

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Observant Quotes

“I was there that day, you know,' Alis said, folding her spindly arms across her chest. 'I saw the Morrigan arrive. Saw her reach into that cocoon of power and pick you up like a child. I begged her to take you out.' My swallow wasn't feigned. 'I never told him that. Never told any of them. I let them think you'd been abducted. But you clung to her, and she was willing to slaughter all of us for what had happened.' 'I don't know why you'd assume that.' I tugged the edges of my silk robe tighter around me. 'Servants talk. And Under the Mountain, I never heard of or saw Rhysand laying a hand on a servant. Guards. Amarantha's cronies, the people he was ordered to kill, yes. But never the meek. Never those unable to defend themselves.' 'He's a monster.' 'They say you came back different. Came back wrong.' A crow's laugh. 'I never bother to tell them I think you came back right. Came back right at last.”

“Sometimes I think Rhysand... I think he might have been her whore to spare us all from her full attention.' I would betray nothing of what I knew. But I suspected her could see it in my eyes- the sorrow at the thought. 'I know I'm supposed to look at you,' Tarquin said, 'and see that he's made you into a pet, into a monster. But I see the kindness in you. And I think that reflects more on him that anything. I think it shows that you and he might have many secrets-”

“language affects the ways we experience the world, and ourselves. we usually think of language, when we think of it at all, as something transparent, or like a mirror that reflects things as they really are. the most important realisation of 20th century western philosophy was that language does not simply mirror the world, in fact, it largely determines what we notice and what we do not.”

“Let's just say you've got an honest way about you- and a sharper eye than I initially thought." She brushed her fingers over the nearest table. "Not a speck of dust." "Oh." Cinderella felt little pride from the compliment. "It is my job," was all she said. "I'm glad you understand that, girl. Though no one told you to reorganize my books." There was a note of accusation in the duchess's voice, and Cinderella didn't know how to respond. "I apologize, ma'am. I-" "Most of my attendants arrange them like flowers, by color and size, but you did it by substance and author. You couldn't have done that without reading them." She swallowed. "I didn't have time to read any, ma'am... but I couldn't resist skimming a few.”

“I'm curious,' he said casually. The amber in his green eyes was glowing. Perhaps not all traces of that beast-warrior were gone. 'Are you ever going to use that knife you stole from my table?' I stiffened. 'How did you know?' Beneath the mask, I could have sworn his brows were raised. 'I was trained to notice those things. But I could smell the fear on you, more than anything.' I grumbled. 'I thought no one noticed.' He gave me a crooked smile, more genuine than all the faked smiles and flattery he'd given me before. 'Regardless of the Treaty, if you were to stand a chance at escaping my kind, you'll need to think more creatively than stealing dinner knives. But with your affinity for eavesdropping, maybe you'll someday learn something valuable.”

“He glanced down at the map on the table, and his voice was void of anything- any emotion, any anger or amusement- as he said, 'What is that?' I snatched up my map. 'I thought I should learn my surroundings.' Drip, drip, drip. I opened my mouth to point out his hand again, but he said, 'You can't write, can you.' I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. Ignorant, insignificant human. 'No wonder you become so adept at other things.' I supposed he was so far gone in thinking about his encounter with the Bogge that he hadn't realised the compliment he'd given me. If it was a compliment.”

“Tamlin broke the silence. 'Feyre likes to hunt.' 'I don't like to hunt.' I should have probably used a more polite tone, but I went on. 'I hunted out of necessity. And how did you know that?' Tamlin's stare was bald, assessing. 'Why else were you in the woods that day? You had a bow and arrows in your... house.' I wondered whether he'd almost said hovel. 'When I saw your father's hands, I knew he wasn't the one using them.' He gestured to my scarred, calloused hands. 'You told him about the rations and money from pelts. Faeries might be many things, but we're not stupid. Unless your ridiculous legends claim that about us, too.' Ridiculous, insignificant. I stared at the crumbs of bread and swirls of remaining sauce on my golden plate. Had I been home, I would have licked my plate clean, desperate for any extra bit of nourishment. And the plates... I could have bought a team of horses, a plow, and a field for just one of them. Disgusting.”

“Looking back now, I wonder if I was observant enough. Certainly I was alert---I always am, during fieldwork---but I suspect that the unfamiliarity of the landscape, the high, dark mountains swaddled in snow, lulled me into a belief that no living thing could accost me here, certainly nothing fae, creatures I have spent my career associating with greenery and water and life. Fortunately, my reflexes are sharp. The instant the light flared through the trees, I halted and gripped my coin. It was a grayish light with no warmth in it, like a star. A wind moved through the trees, and there came a whisper of bells. Had I not been touching metal, I might have been bespelled, and as it was my head still spun a little, but I am used to brushing against faerie enchantments and stood my ground.”

“It is not my strength that grows, so much as God's strength in me, which is given more abundantly as the days roll. It is so given on one condition. If my faith has laid hold of the infinite, the exhaustless, the immortal energy of God, unless there is something fearfully wrong about me, I shall be getting purer, nobler, wiser, more observant of His will; gentler, like Christ; every way fitter for His service, and for larger service, as the days increase.”

“This is, if not a lifetime process, it's awfully close to it. The writer broadens, becomes deeper, becomes more observant, becomes more tempered, becomes much wiser over a period time passing. It is not something that is injected into him by a needle. It is not something that comes on a wave of flashing, explosive light one night and say, 'Huzzah! Eureka! I've got it!' and then proceeds to write the great American novel in eleven days. It doesn't work that way. It's a long, tedious, tough, frustrating process, but never, ever be put aside by the fact that it's hard.”

“So are the early unions of an unfixed Marriage: watchful and observant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and apt to take alarm at every unkind word. For infirmities do not manifest themselves in the first Scenes, but in the succession of a long Society.”