It kills me. The way he trusted. LIke the way we trusted before they came and blue the whole goddamned world apart. Trusted that when it got dark there would be light. Trusted that when you wanted a fucking strawberry Frappuccino you could plop your ...
And if humanity is the last war, then I am the battlefield.
If you don't kill all of us all at once, those who remain will not be the weak. It's the strong who remain, the bent but unbroken, like the iron rods that used to give this concrete its strength.
We'd stared into Death's eyes and Death blinked first.
In the 4th Wave, you can't trust that people are still people. But you can trust that your gun is still your gun.
I think we're seriously screwed when the men with guns decided to help the bad guys.
Too many people say something when they really have nothing to say.
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.{...}
He didn’t like to see animals in captivity. When he looked into their eyes, something in their eyes looked back at him.
And, for one– ten thousandth of a second, all of it fell away, the despair and grief and anger and pain and hunger, and the old Ben Parish rose from the dead. The eyes that impaled. The smile that slayed. In another moment, he would fade, slide bac...
That's it," he said bitterly. "Cry, Cassie. Cry for her. Cry for all the children. They can't hear you and they can't see you and can't feel how really bad you feel, but cry for them. A tear for each of them, fill up the fucking ocean, cry.
