Somewhere along the way, during this hunt for Glendower, he'd forgotten to notice how much magic there was in the world. How much magic that wasn't just buried in a tomb. He was feeling it now.

They were difficult things to unmake, dreamers. So much of a dreamer didn't exist inside a physical body. So many complicated parts of them snarled in the stars and tangled in tree roots. So much of them fled down rivers and exploded through the air between raindrops.

...he realized how much Declan had missed by growing up neither dreamer nor dreamt. This had never been his home. The Lynches had never tried to make it Declan’s home.

“It is a terrible thing to see someone else scared, isn’t it?”

It was easier to tell hero from villain when the stakes were only life and death. Everything in between gets harder.

...the difference between a nice house and a nice prison is really small.

These days, they all had their hands thrust into the sky, hoping for comets.

Outside, overgrown grass lapped dew on Ronan’s boots, and mist curled around the tyres of the charcoal BMW. The sky over Monmouth Manufacturing was the colour of a muddy lake. It was cold, but Ronan’s gasoline heart was firing.

Today’s goal was to dream something to keep Gansey safe in the case that he was stung again. Ronan had dreamt antidotes before, of course, EpiPens and cures, but the problem was that he wouldn’t know if those worked until it was too late if they didn’t. So now, better plan: a sheer armored skin. Something that would protect Gansey before he ever got hurt.

He had had his own feelings hurt over and over by Adam, even when Adam had meant no harm. Some of the worst fractures had appeared because Adam hadn't realized the he was causing them.

You will be on of those gods without magic powers. What are they called? King.

Why had he given this up? He couldn’t remember even that.
In the dark water he was only Gansey, now. He’d never died, he wasn’t going to die again. He was only Gansey, now, now, only now.

It was hollow eyes dead and teeth-bared lips and soul threaded through naked bones. It had not been alive for years. It was impossible to not see how decayed the soul was, how removed from humanity, how stretched thin from time away from a pulse. Noah Czerny had died. This was all that was left. That was the truth. Blue’s body was a riot of shivers. She had kissed this. This thin, cold memory of a human.

Adam knew that Ronan was fully aware of how malevolent he could appear, and he did not soften himself as he stared across the patchy dark grass at Robert Parrish. Ronan Lynch’s stare was a snake on the pavement where you wanted to walk. It was a match left on your pillow. It was pressing your lips together and tasting your own blood.

It was hidden in things Adam already knew, half-glimpsed behind a forest made of thoughts.

You stuffing it down his throat isn’t going to make him hungry.

Matthew was a loud, joyful kid, but his room was orderly and spare. Ronan used to think that this was because Matthew kept all his clutter inside his curly-haired head. But now he suspected it was because Ronan had not had enough imagination to dream a fully formed human. Three-year-old Ronan had wanted a brother whose love was complete and uncomplicated. Three-year-old Ronan had dreamt Matthew, the opposite of Declan in every way.

There are fates worse than death.