Rebekah > Books: close-to-favorites‎ (30)

“They say that when I was born, all the wild geese flew down from the sky, and the fish sank beneath the waves, having forgotten how to swim.

“They say that when I was born, all the wild geese flew down from the sky, and the fish sank beneath the waves, having forgotten how to swim. I have always found such stories to be laughably exaggerated, but they prove the same thing: that my beauty was something unnatural, transcending nature itself. And that beauty is not so different from destruction.”

“In reality we were just two mortals, bound by our respective roles in history, and whatever flickered between us felt so terribly fragile compared to the immovable weight of mountains, of kingdoms, of war.”

“They do not hurt,” he said after a beat, which meant yes. “I am already used to them.”

He could have been telling the truth. The planes of his face were cold and unmoved as the moon overhead. Yet I felt a vivid rush of rage, a reckless impulse for violence. I would remember this. I would torment the ones who had done this to him, who had carved their hatred into his flesh. I would gladly bring down their entire kingdom for this one wrong.

“Be careful, I wanted to warn her, a pang in my chest, that old affliction of the heart. Love is a knife; it cuts both ways.”

“Even hundreds or thousands of years now, I believe they will remember him a hero.”

“But heroes always have tragic endings,” I said softly, a lump in my throat.

“Yes, well. One cannot save the world and live in peace. That's not how these things work.”

“We are defined by our hardships, Hanaleiarihi, and how we face them.”

“We are defined by our hardships, Hanaleiarihi, and how we face them.”

“In the old tales, it is written that the egg of a seadragon, dragonfruit, holds within it the power to undo a person's greatest sorrow. But as with all things that promise the moon and the stars and offer hope when hope has gone, the tale comes with a warning. Every wish demands a price.”

“And marvel at the fact that, of all the pebbles spinning around all the fiery specks, you get to share this pebble with these dots at this e

“And marvel at the fact that, of all the pebbles spinning around all the fiery specks, you get to share this pebble with these dots at this exact moment within infinity.”

“Death isn't the end but a conclusion to a single chapter within the infinite story of us a cosmic transfer when our essence merges with the skies above. In death, we return to stardust, forever woven into the celestial tapestry of a universe that cannot be anything but immortal.”

“The catastrophic thought pestering you was born from a series of electrical reactions contained in a three-pound sponge of flesh floating between your ears. That three-pound sponge of flesh floating between your ears lives in your one, singular body.

And your one, singular body is just one tiny dot, surrounded by billions of other tiny dots, all clinging to a pebble spinning through space.

That spinning pebble is circling a bigger, fiery speck that's clustered together with billions of other bigger, fiery specks. And that cluster of bigger, fiery specks is just one of billions of clusters of bigger, fiery specks suspended throughout infinity.

So when that catastrophic thought tries to convince your three-pound sponge of flesh that the fate of the universe rests on your shoulders, remember that you're just that one tiny dot clinging to that one spinning pebble.

And marvel at the fact that, of all the pebbles spinning around all the fiery specks, you get to share this pebble with these dots at this exact moment within infinity.”

“Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And transl

“Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And translation—a necessary endeavour, however futile, to move between them.”

“Translation means doing violence upon the original, means warping and distorting it for foreign, unintended eyes. So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?”

Robin wondered then how much of Anthony's life had been spent carefully translating himself to white people, how much of his genial, affable polish was an artful construction to fit a particular idea of a Black man in white England and to afford himself maximum access within an institution like Babel. And he wondered if there would ever be a day that came when all this was unnecessary, when white people would look at him and Anthony and simply listen, when their words would have worth and value because they were uttered, when they would not have to hide who they were, when they wouldn't have to go through endless distortions just to be understood.

“After all, we’re here to make the unknown known, to make the other familiar. We’re here to make magic with words.”

“That's just what translation is, I think. That's all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they're trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.”

The word strike, in relation to labour, originally had the connotation of submission. Ships would drop, or strike, their sails when surrendering to enemy forces or saluting their superiors. But when sailors in 1768 struck their sails in protest to demand better wages, they turned strike from an act of submission to a strategic act of violence; by withholding their labour, they proved they were in fact indispensable.

“Be good. Make them suffer.”

“Be good. Make them suffer.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says.
I say, “I’m scared all the time. I’m tired of it.”
“Then do something about it.”

I wrote this book for a few reasons: Because I wanted more stories about boys like me. Because I was angry. Because I still am. But mainly, I wanted to show queer kids that they can walk through hell and come out alive. Maybe not in one piece, maybe forever changed, but alive and worthy of love all the same.
That's what you'll find here. Terrible things, survival, love, and a future worth fighting for.
Sharpen your teeth, take up your fire, and let's do this.
—Andrew Joseph White

“Sometimes I felt like I was an extra in a movie. Like somehow the role I'd been given in life wasn't a speaking one.”

“Sometimes I felt like I was an extra in a movie. Like somehow the role I'd been given in life wasn't a speaking one.”

“It is up to you to demand people see you as you, or they will almost always decide you are someone else.”

“It is up to you to demand people see you as you, or they will almost always decide you are someone else.”

“Faintly, I make out the flashing hives under the midday sun, and above them the bees, everywhere yet invisible, like glitter imagined into the air.”

Mr Segundus wished to know, he said, why modern magicians were unable to work the magic they wrote about. In short, he wished to know why ther

Mr Segundus wished to know, he said, why modern magicians were unable to work the magic they wrote about. In short, he wished to know why there was no more magic done in England.

“It presupposes that magicians have some sort of duty to do magic—which is clearly nonsense. [...] Magicians, Mr Segundus, study magic which was done long ago. Why should any one expect more?”

Spring returned to England. Birds followed ploughs. Stones were warmed by the sun. Rains and winds grew softer, and were fragranced with the scents of earth and growing things. Woods were tinged with a colour so soft, so subtle that it could scarcely be said to be a colour at all. It was more the idea of a colour—as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts.

She went on alone. The person within the doorway was reading. He looked up as she approached, with the old, dear expression of not quite remembering where he was or what he had to do with the world outside his book.

And yet now that it was over his spirits were greatly agitated and he wished very much to be allowed to go quietly home without speaking to any one.

“It's up to you. You get that, right? It's up to you.”

“Yeah,” I say, but what little gravity I have, I'm losing quickly, blood rushing in my e

“It's up to you. You get that, right? It's up to you.”

“Yeah,” I say, but what little gravity I have, I'm losing quickly, blood rushing in my ears, my vision tilting, because when has anything ever been up to me? I rake my hair back, try to breathe. I should be used to this lack of gravity. I haven't been on stable ground since my mom lost custody of me. Seven years is a long time for anything, let alone not touching Earth.

Families splitting are like earthquakes. Yes, they are happening every day all over the world, but that doesn't make them any less shocking when they happen to you.

“Motherhood is one long goodbye. From the moment your child is born, you are preparing them to leave you.”

And what I'm feeling is bigger than anything I've ever experienced. A star exploding. Atoms reversing themselves.

Gravity.

“If nothing’s real, then what does it matter?” he said. “You live here. Doesn’t that make it real enough?”

“If nothing’s real, then what does it matter?” he said. “You live here. Doesn’t that make it real enough?”

“And then, after you’ve survived, you get over it. And you live.”

“Just be Blaine?

That’s not as simple as it sounds.”

“Just be Blaine?

That’s not as simple as it sounds.”

“How am I supposed to know who I am if all I’ve done the past few years is figure out what I'm not?”

“How am I supposed to know who I am if all I’ve done the past few years is figure out what I'm not?”

“Maybe we've never been opposites, but two halves of a whole we didn't have enough distance to see yet.”

“There is no grace here.”

“There is no grace here.”

“He did it, they say. Sal Singh killed Andie.
But I'm just not so sure.”

“He did it, they say. Sal Singh killed Andie.
But I'm just not so sure.”

“Why do y

“Why do you have to be an Extraordinary to be better? Why can’t you just be extraordinary with what you already have?”

“‘I’m very self-aware,’ Nick said smugly. ‘I see everyth— Ow, who put this freaking fire hydrant here?’”

“You didn’t show fear in the face of a predator, especially when said predator had a knife. Scratch that. Two knives, because Mustache Man also pulled out a knife similar to the one Male Pattern Baldness had. And because Nick wasn’t always in control of his thoughts, he wondered if they were dating, and had picked out his-and-his matching switchblades. He cursed himself for being a romantic even when he was about to be stabbed.”

“For the neurodiverse who think big and dream even bigger: you are a superhero, and your powers are infinite. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

How can I want something so badly

How can I want something so badly but become so paralyzed every time I even think about taking it?

"Be right back," I say, and run to the bathroom to curl up on the floor. Just for like five minutes. Then I go back to my room and sit down beside Wallace.

If I invited someone somewhere—unlikely—and they told me they'd think about it, I'd end up barricading myself in my room and never speaking to them again.

“Broken people don’t hide from their monsters. Broken people let themselves be eaten.”

“Would it kill them to ask me what I’m doing on the phone before they assume it’s something pointless?”

“Keep the quarantine, they said. Follow the rules and we’ll help you.
A knife in my belt, and the shotgun in my hands. A year and a half of em

“Keep the quarantine, they said. Follow the rules and we’ll help you.
A knife in my belt, and the shotgun in my hands. A year and a half of empty sky, of not enough medicine, of bodies burning behind the school. We have to help ourselves.”