It hurt her eyes, almost, Ror City; and it didn't surprise her that Po should come from a place that shone.

You're good at love," she said simply, because it seemed to her that it was true. "I'm not so good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away." He shrugged. "I don't mind you pushing me away if it means you love me, little sister.

Tell me what I can do to help you feel better." Well...I always like when you kiss me... "Do you?" You're good at it. "Well, that's lucky. Because I'll always be kissing you.

Katsa didn't think a person should thank her for not causing pain. Causing joy was worthy of thanks, and causing pain worthy of disgust. Causing neither was neither, it was nothing, and nothing didn't warrant thanks.

Sit, Your High Majestic Lord Princes," she said. She yanked a chair from the table and sat herself down. "You're in fine temper," Raffin said. "Your hair is blue," Katsa snapped back.

Everyone was willing to take some small risk to lessen the damage of their ambition and disorder and lawlessness.

His name was Death. It was pronounced to rhyme with "teeth", but Bitterblue liked to mispronounce it by accident on occassion.