Nevernight

this was a place where words had no place

Would it kill you,” he’d roared, “to serve [stab] some fucking [stab] salad?”

“Well, I’ll be off then. Too many books. Too few centuries.”

If her face were a puzzle, most would put it back in the box, unfinished.

in truth, no child thinks of herself as anything less than immortal

If her face were a puzzle, most would put it back in the box, unfinished.

Her father’s name, like the last note in the saddest song she’d ever heard.

The three suns hanging on a chain about his throat tried to gleam, but the clouds in the crying sky told them no.

O, Daughters, his eyes. Five thousand fathoms deep. Pulling you in to laugh even as he drowned you.