And John Kearns whispered into my ear: "Do you see it now? *You* are the nest. *You* are the hatchling. *You* are the chrysalis. *You* are the progeny. *You* are the rot that falls from the stars. All of us--you and I and poor, dear Pellinore. Behold...
I walked until the water lapped against my chest, and then I kept walking until it kissed the underside of my jaw. I was surprised how cold it was. I closed my eyes and ducked beneath the surface. Thee was the wind and the clouds and the pure pool an...
But hope is no less realistic than despair. It is still our choice whether to live in light or lie down in darkness.
Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end.
She hated him and loved him, longed for him and loathed him, and cursed herself for feeling anything at all
Beside me the monstrumologist murmured, "I believe I am in hell, therefore I am there.
It would change everything, gentlemen. It would shift the entire balance of power in Europe-maybe the world. Alexander conquered half of it. Think what he would have done with arrows dipped in monster snot!
I confessed I did not have an opinion; I was only thirteen, and this was my very first dismemberment.
We have just discovered our dear colleague butchered in a hotel room, and you wish to discuss literature?
Ah. And then you kill him." "No," Arkwright replied patiently. "We are British. We avoid murder if we can help it.{...}
