Both Averill and Bayar were like actors speaking lines for their audience and not to each other.

Tears stung her eyes. She sank her knees next to the sleeping bench and gently raked strands of golden hair from him forehead. "Don't you die. don't you dare. I forbid it." As if Han Alister had ever listened to anything she said.

But maybe it's better to go after something, and not get it, than to not even try.

He expects nothing, she thought, because he's never had anything. And nothing was expected of him. He was free in a way she never would be.

If you want to be a writer, you must be in love with the process of writing, whether you achieve financial success or not.

Well, I believe she went in to rescue some Raggers from the pits,” Cuffs said. “She wasn’t all that specific.” “She went in to rescue — why would she do that?” Amon gripped the ironwork, studying the streetlord’s face. Was he lying? And if so, what was the purpose? “Guess she’s kind of taken with us,” Cuffs said. “You know, the glamor of the gang life and all. Getting beat up every other day, arrested for crimes you didn’t commit, long nights in gaol, sleeping in the cold and wet. It’s...seductive.” He raised an eyebrow.

What kind of love would drive a man for miles through solid rock?