Nouf *LostinFantasy* > Books: pov-switching‎ (29)

“I know a thing or two about having dreams the rest of the world thinks are madness”

“I know a thing or two about having dreams the rest of the world thinks are madness”

"It's never up to you what happens. Your only choice is what to do when it does. What kind of per

"It's never up to you what happens. Your only choice is what to do when it does. What kind of person will you decide to be?”

“You’ve fought me for years, but now that it’s about Kashmir—”
"What did you really expect, Slate?” My voice shocked me—the anger in it. “After all this time watching you, what did you think I would do?”
"I don’t know!” he shouted, flinging his arms into the air. “Maybe learn from my mistakes?”
"I did,” I shot back. “Just not the lessons you thought. And now I have the chance to learn from experience.”

Looking at Slate, his bent shoulders, his hollow eyes—I knew I could not let it happen to me. I would not end up like my father.

“You won’t find Vaadi Al-Maas on any modern maps.”
"Because it was a myth.”
I bit my lip. “Yes.”
"Then what am I?”
"Kashmir—”
"If you can create a myth, why not a man? Am I merely a figment of some cartographer’s imagination? Or did you make me up when you arrived?”
"No, Kash. I . . . No. Don’t say that. You are . . . you’re very real to me.”
But it wasn’t what he needed to hear. He shook his head. “I need to be more than what is reflected in your eyes. Otherwise . . .”
For a moment, he was at a loss for words, and the confusion of it made him look so young.
"Otherwise what?”
"Otherwise what am I without you?”

“So I should do nothing? You want to be lost?”
"Of course I don’t! But I don’t want to lose you either.”
"You won’t.”
"I already am.” His voice was bitter; he kicked at a bottle cap. “There’s a wall around you now, amira. You built it with your father. I don’t know who holds the key.”

"But why settle for a story, when I could start a legend?"

"But why settle for a story, when I could start a legend?"

"Play the game and you may yet win your kingdom, not just the husk of its name."

"What was magic anyway, but the world beheld by someone who chose to see it differently?"

“Find the one who glows, with blood on the lips and fangs in the heart.”

"Death might be waiting, but I was going to be a queen. I would have my throne if I had to carve a path of blood and bone to get it back.
Death could wait."

"He was raised on a bellyful of want—always kept at a distance, always in sight of everything he wanted and could never sink his teeth into—which only made him that much more attuned to seeing through words and straight to the desires."

“You’re certain that rakshasi fruit is out of your system?” asked Vikram.
"Yes?”
"Good.” He took a deep breath. “Because, once more, I told you so.”
"You do realize that I don’t need the enhancements of demon fruit to knock you to the ground?”
"I do. But I concede that some bodily harm from you is inevitable. I’m just trying to minimize the damage.”
"How very wise,” I said, rolling my eyes.

(Vikram): "Have some faith.”
(Gauri): "Between faith and distrust, which one is more likely to keep you alive?”
"And which one is more likely to let you experience living?”
I threw up my hands. “Why is everything so philosophical with you?”
He shrugged. “I like thinking.”

I didn’t want to cut out my heart. I wanted to give it. Freely and without feeling as if it would be turned into a weapon against me. I wanted freedom to thaw me, to let it break the walls Skanda’s rule had forced me to build. I wanted the privilege of weakness.

"I’d almost forgotten the true power of a story … how it lulled you outside your thoughts, let you process the world in a way that was palatable. Not poisonous. Calm rushed through me."

But all Cress could see were the blue eyes staring back at her, directly back at her, beginning to fill with the same breathless awe she felt.
The same wonder.
The same enchantment.

“Aces,” Carswell Thorne murmured. Dropping his feet to the ground, he leaned forward to inspect her closer. “Is that all hair?”
The bond snapped, the fantasy of one perfect true-love moment disintegrating around her.

“You find me ugly, don’t you?”
He clenched his teeth, prayed he wouldn’t start a war with their newest ally and answered honestly. “Hideous,” he said. “A hag of a woman.”

“And you,” he said. “You don’t think me a handsome man?”
“Had you crawled out from under my bed when I was a child, I would have bludgeoned you to death with my father’s mace.”

"How sad for them, she thought, that they had grown up without any thorns with which to protect themselves."

"How sad for them, she thought, that they had grown up without any thorns with which to protect themselves."

He was yanked back by his collar before he could swim closer.
"Would you stop making eyes at that bloody ship? It’s a siege,” Sophia grated at him. “If they catch us, they won’t just kill us; they’ll make a whole show of it. Use our decapitated bodies to boost morale.”
Right. Yes. Siege.

As much as Etta was his heart’s helpmate, Sophia was the sword at his side on the expedition he undertook now.

Nicholas wondered briefly if it was his destiny to be surrounded by women possessing varying degrees of murderous intent.

"You’re rather handy, Linden-Hemlock-Spencer,” he said. “That was some brilliant teamwork, if I do say so myself.”
"I’m not sure you know what that word means,” Etta managed, her teeth clenched.
“You’re the brawn, I’m the brains, kiddo,” he told her. “You don’t need my help with this.”

She blinked. “That was… surprisingly useful.”
"As I like to say, always aim to disappoint in life,” Julian said. “That way you’ll never fail to be a delightful surprise when you don’t.”