Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive. Simple as that.
But the things about people, Kell had discovered, is that they didn't want to know. They thought they did, but knowing only made them miserable.
The bodies in my floor all trusted someone. Now I walk on them to tea.
Da used to say that only fools and cowards scorned fear. Fear keeps you alive.
Ignorance may be bliss, but only if it outweighs curiosity. Curiosity is a gateway drug to sympathy.
Like I said, Kenzie. Everything ends. I’m not afraid to die,” you say with a wan smile. “I just hope I’m smart enough to stay dead.
Only fools and cowards scorned fear. Fear keeps you alive.
A confession: I am not a good friend.
What if I mess up?" "Oh, you will. You'll mess up, you'll make mistakes, you'll break things. Some you'll be able to piece together, and others you'll lose. That's all a given. But there's only one thing you have to do for me." "What's that?" "Stay a...
The first trick to lying is to tell the truth as often as possible. If out start lying about everything, big and small, it becomes impossible to keep things straight and you'll get caught. Once suspicion is planted it becomes exponentially harder to ...
He manages a sad smile. “An omission is not the same thing as a lie, Miss Bishop. It’s a manipulation.
Lying is easy. But it's lonely." "What do you mean?" "When you lie to everyone about everything, what's left? What's true?" "Nothing," I say. "Exactly.
Lying is easy. But it’s lonely.
The only way to truly record a person is not in words, not in still frames, but in bone and skin and memory.
His gaze settles on the discarded book. He leans, reaching until his fingertips graze Dante's Inferno, still on its bed of folded sheets. "What have we here?" he asks. "Required reading," I say. "It's a shame they do that," he says, thumbing through ...
I’ve been thinking.” “A dangerous pursuit.” “Indeed.
Well," I ask, leaning over him, "do you wish to stay?" "I do." "And why is that, Cole?" I say, tipping toward him so that our noses nearly brush. "Well," he says with a smile, "the weather's quite nice.
Cole steps forward, his fingers reaching around my shoulders, and kisses me. It is sudden and smooth and soft as air against my lips. The wind whips around us, tugging at the fabric of our clothes, but not pulling us apart. And then it's gone, the co...
You really are like him, your father." "I can't tell whether you think that's good or bad." "What does it matter? It's simply true.
Magda looks at me as if I've gone mad. Or I've grown up. It's kind of the same thing.
