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«Empati er ofte en forutsetning for forståelse. Hvor mye bedre hadde ikke verden vært hvis vi oppriktig kunne si til hverandre: 'Jeg skjønner deg, skjønner hvorfor du føler som du gjør, men det gjør likevel ikke handlingene dine riktige.'»

«Så verden vil ende? Det er det du sier?»
«Det er en god slutning,» svarte Rime.
«Ja, da er det bare én ting å gjøre.» Lindri reiste seg langsomt. Rynkene i ansiktet skar dypere. Avslørte verken i knoklene.
«Hva da?» spurte Rime.
«Lage te.»

– Kjæresten din?
Jeg fikk fullstendig sykt lyst til å fnise. Høyt og skranglete med damp ut av øra.

It struck him that in moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external enemy, but always against one's own body.

It was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the human heritage.

Our free hands met. His felt warm and comforting and unsettling and bewildering - all at once.

I'd never seen so many books. Never. The sight made my eyes water. I mean, tear right up.

Adeeba reminded me that our enemies hide their wrongdoing beneath our shame. But truth is like a shadow. It cannot be buried.

Sometimes the fluffy bunny of incredulity zooms round the bend so rapidly that the greyhound of language is left, agog, in the starting cage.

It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.

You weren't worried about public disclosure?
From who?
The press, the media.
The "media"? You mean those networks that are owned by some of the largest corporations in the world, corporations that world have taken a nosedive if another panic hit the stock market? That media?

"Men det er kult korleis kreftene verkar," sa eg og stirra ut over havet. Eg hadde blitt gjennomvarm og ønskte ein vind kunne kjølne kinna mine. "Sånn som at dersom du hoppar uti vatnet, kjem heile jordkloden opp og tar deg imot. Newtons tredje lov."
"Kan det ikkje kjennast slik nokre gonger, som at du held jordkloden i bane med vekta di åleine?" sa Mads.

I do not consent to die, thought Bitterblue, desperate for air,

But Bitterblue couldn’t sleep. She held a word inside herself that she was too shy to say aloud.

Sahalia started to sing and her voice was very gravelly and raspy. A satisfying voice. Like you had an itch in your ear and her voice could scratch it.

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies,” said Jojen. “The man who never reads lives only one."

The previous night’s events were in my mouth—there it was, my little story, bitter and bad tasting.

“Blue. My name’s Blue Sargent.”
“Blair?”
“Blue.”
“Blaize?”
Blue sighed. “Jane.”
“Oh, Jane! I thought that you were saying Blue for some reason."

He was full of the restless, dissatisfied energy that always seemed to move into his heart after he visited home these days. It had something to do with the knowledge that his parents’ house wasn’t truly home anymore — if it had ever been — and something to do with the realization that they hadn’t changed; he had.

She was okay, but in the way she’d been okay before the helicopter. It was not that she was scared of flashing lights on the EMF reader or Adam’s watch refusing to work, but she hadn’t gotten out of bed in the morning expecting to encounter a place where possibly time didn’t work.