Цитаты из книги Потерянные сёстры

Пожалуй, я начну с истории любви. Хотя нет, скорее, это очередная страшная сказка. Кажется, обычно они и отличаются-то только концовкой.

Sometimes it’s easier to be mad at the people close to us, than to be mad at the people who deserve it.

Be bold, be bold, but not too bold, lest that your heart's blood should run cold.

“You promised—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Not a marriage of a year and a day, either,” I said. “I want you to love me until you die.”

He blinked. “Don’t you mean until you die? Because you’re sure to.”

I shook my head. “You’re going to live forever. If you love me, I will become a part of your story. I will live on in that.”

Fairy tales are full of girls who wait, who endure, who suffer. Good girls. Obedient girls. Girls who crush nettles until their hands bleed. Girls who haul water for witches. Girls who wander through deserts or sleep in ashes or make homes for transformed brothers in the woods. Girls without hands, without eyes, without the power of speech, without any power at all. But then a prince rides up and sees the girl and finds her beautiful. Beautiful, not despite her suffering, but because of it.

If wishes were horses, my mortal father used to say, beggars would ride. Another one of those phrases that makes no sense until it does.

“Love is greedy,” Rhyia said, drawing her bow. She’d spotted a bird high in the trees and chosen it to be her quarry.

Her words bothered me, although I suppose my love for Locke was greedy, too. But love was also transforming. I knew that from fairy tales. It could turn you back from a cat or a frog or a beast. Probably it could turn you into those things, too.

My sister. My impulsive twin who seemed to be willing to make every stupid choice in the world.

The one with the tale that was still unfolding.

Locke’s eyes were alive with interest.

“Why are you looking at Jude like that?” I asked.

“I can’t help it,” he said, never taking his gaze from you. “I’m drawn to trouble.”

He’s handsome, but that makes his horribleness worse, somehow. As though he’s taken something nice and made it awful.

Fairy tales have a moral: Stay on the path. Don’t trust wolves. Don’t steal things, not even things you think no normal person would care about. Share your food but don’t trust people who want to share their food with you; don’t eat their shiny red apples, nor their candy houses, nor any of it. Be nice, always nice, and polite to everyone: kings and beggars, witches and wounded bears. Don’t break a promise.

“Let’s start with a love story.

Or maybe it’s another horror story. It seems like the difference is mostly in where the ending comes.”

"You’re awful." He said it as though he was delighted. "And the worst part is that you believe otherwise."

Love is a noble cause. How can anything done in the service of a noble cause be wrong?

“You’re awful.” He said it as though he was delighted. “And the worst part is that you believe otherwise.”

Возможно, порой проще злиться на близких, - сказала Виви, - чем на тех, кто этого заслуживает.

Любовь жадна.

- Вероятно, тебе не стоит вручать мне свое сердце. Я могу его разбить.