The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough. Actually, I know different. And it's still enough.

Death smells like birthday cake.

She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness. It was the way she felt when she looked at the stars.

Gansey appeared beside Blue in the doorway. He shook his empty bottle at her. "Fair trade," he told her in a way that indicated he had selected a fair-trade coffee beverage entirely so that he could tell Blue that he had selected a fair-trade coffee beverage so that she could tell him well done with your carbon footprint and all that jazz. Blue said, "Better recycle that bottle.

Gansey leaned back, head thrown to the side, drunken and silly with happiness. "I love this car," he said, loud enough to be heard over the engine. "I should buy four more of them. I'll just open the door of one to fall in to the other. One can be a living room, one can be my kitchen, I'll sleep in one..." "And the fourth? Butler's pantry?" Blue shouted. "Don't be so selfish. Guest room.

I thought you said scrying was a bad idea.” “It's like vodka,” Calla said. “It really depends on who's doing it.

Hope hurt more than the cold.