the-raven-king

If one squinted in Cabeswater long enough, in the right way, one could see secrets dart between the trees. The shadows of horned animals that never appeared. The winking lights of another summer's fireflies. The rushing sound of many wings, the sound of a massive flock always out of sight. Magic.

Somewhere along the way, during this hunt for Glendower, he'd forgotten to notice how much magic there was in the world. How much magic that wasn't just buried in a tomb. He was feeling it now.

If one squinted into Cabeswater long enough, in the right way, one could see secrets dart between the trees. The shadows of horned animals that never appeared. The winking lights of another summer's fireflies. The rushing sound of many wings, the sound of a massive flock always out of sight. Magic.

He trailed through hallways, ducking under arms no longer there, excusing himself as he pressed through conversations long since ended.

I take it we're friends now," Henry said. "We must be," Gansey replied. "Jane says it should be so.""It should be so," Blue agreed.

You're asking me to define an abstract concept that no one has managed to explain since time began. You sort of sprang it on me," Gansey said. "Why do we breathe air? Because we love air? Because we don't want to suffocate. Why do we eat? Because we don't want to starve. How do I know I love her? Because I can sleep after I talk to her. Why?

To think you could have been dreaming the cure for cancer," Blue said. "Look, Sargent," Ronan retorted, "I was gonna dream you some eye cream last night since clearly modern medicine's doing jack shit for you, but I nearly had my ass handed to me by a death snake from the fourth circle of dream hell, so you're welcome."Blue was appropriately touched. "Ah, thanks, man.""No problem, bro.

Yes!" He says. "Fear is an excellent motivator. I find that it really brings out the true ingenuity of a creature.

Gansey knew enough people with secrets not to be dazzled into easily using them as currency.

It was hidden in things Adam already knew, half-glimpsed behind a forest made of thoughts.

It wasn't that Henry was less of himself in English. He was less of himself out loud. His native language was thought.