Book Title Quotes

“Humans. For the most part, you are dull and blundering. But occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures.”
― Shelby Van Pelt, Remarkably Bright Creatures

“The thin how-to book belonging to Smittie had a dark and perplexing title—HOW TO COMMIT SUICIDE EFFECTIVELY EVERY TIME.”
― Jasun Ether, The Beasts of Success

“The Side Effects of Dying in Your Pants isn't really funny… Alright, it's a little funny.”
― John Green

“Lengo la jina la kitabu ni kuishawishi hadhira kusoma dibaji, na lengo la dibaji ni kuishawishi hadhira kusoma salio la kitabu kizima.”
― Enock Maregesi

“The tendency to invent things had been with her for a long time. Back in high school, she’d pretended not to understand a simple maths problem so as to persuade the boy she fancied into helping her. After studying for the upcoming test together, they’d ended up dating. As an adult, she’d called up a different crush late at night to tell him that she felt like she was being followed, and succeeded in luring him over to her apartment. She didn’t feel guilty about these deceptions. Being neither beautiful nor having any outstanding talents, she needed some hook in order to attract people’s interest. It was something that everyone did, to a greater or lesser degree.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Most mornings I get up to listen to the birds, and each summer I taste the honeysuckle, and I kiss Rus in the golden hours of dusk every chance I get. I kiss him in the mornings, too, and in the early afternoons, and in the gazebo of that someday garden, when we finally built it.
I never heard Harriet’s voice again, and while the gardens spun strange stories for other people, Lilymoor’s magic politely passed us by.
Then again, we didn’t need it anymore as we fell in love over and over and over again, season after season, in that someday garden on the cliffs by the sea.”
― Ashley Poston, The Someday Garden

“You can't write without words, and you can't create perfumes without knowing scents and materials, so you need a vocabulary for what you're doing. An olfactory library."
"A library of flowers," says Ana.
"And spices and herbs and chemicals," Mom says.”
― L.C. Chu, The Library of Flowers

“Of all the love stories I’ve written, yours has been my absolute favorite. Now go. Live. You have so many chapters ahead of you— and quite the happily ever after to finish.


Yours,
M.B.


Katie’s fingers flew over the manuscript’s cover page. Tropesick, by Meredith Bradford.
“This is the book?” she said. “Our book?”
I nodded.”
― Lauren Okie, Tropesick

“Mina pulled out the tissue paper to reveal something black. She liked it already. Lifting it out of the bag, she discovered a zip-up hoodie. When she unfolded it, she saw the Lore Club logo that she’d drawn on the board at their first meeting. Her fingers traced the letters. Her letters. Her eyes filled with tears.
“I screenshotted the video I took that day, with the logo on the board,” Arthur said.
“We really liked it and thought it would look cool on a hoodie,” Jackie nodded.
“I love it,” Mina said, pulling on the hoodie and zipping it up. The inside was soft and warm. “It’s perfect. Thanks, guys. This means… this means everything.”
“We love you, Mina, our fearless leader of lore,” Jackie said, resting her head on Mina’s shoulder.”
― Melanie Dale, Girl of Lore

“I was going through a stack of manuscripts and the word Aura caught my eye. I’m not completely sure how this is related to Circe yet, but I translated the story about a young woman named Ursula. Her beauty was so renowned that knights leaving on crusades would stop by her father’s hut just to look at her. They believed good fortune would befall them if they gazed into her eyes.”
“What time period is that?” Serena asked.
“The thirteenth century.”
“That’s about the time Stanton was kidnapped by the Atrox,” Vanessa said softly.
Kendra nodded and waited a moment before she went on, her finger running along the words written on the page. “According to the manuscript, the devil also saw her beauty and pursued her, offering her great wealth if she would betroth him. Knowing her father’s poverty, she decided to sacrifice her life for the good of her family. She asked for only one gift for herself—”
“To preserve her beauty for eternity,” Jimena interrupted.
Kendra smiled. “That’s right. Apparently she suffered from vanity.”
“But could Ursula be Aura?” Catty seemed skeptical. “That would mean she’s been alive for centuries.”
“There’s more,” Kendra continued. “Ursula betrayed the devil by falling in love with a mortal.”
“Lambert.” Serena gasped.
“The manuscript didn’t give a name, but the devil found out and punished Ursula by destroying her beauty. She remained alive but in bodiless form and was called Aura after that.”
“She’s been alive for that long?” Tianna looked stunned.
Kendra nodded. “In Latin, Aura means the one who is like air. She lived as a wind spirit until she found a way to possess other bodies.”
― Lynne Ewing, Possession

“Penelope shuddered and swirled around. Something dangerous lurked in the raging fire. Then a black shadow wrapped around her. The foggy shape of a man stood beside her, its eyes wicked black points, its strong arrogant face challenging her.
“So you’re the one sent to stop me.” It spoke with a proud voice and stroked her shoulder.
She winced and pulled away, disgust rushing through her, but even as she hated its touch, it also awakened a forbidden hunger, and a pleasant thrill traveled up her spine.
The Atrox smiled as if it knew her secret thoughts. Too late she realized she had let down her guard. It was in her mind, sensing her revulsion and desire. Its grin filled with hideous confidence.
Fervent flames shot up in celebration, howling with desire, the swirling vortex slapping around her. Her heart throbbed, its beat slowing. The cold became unendurable and she began to cry, tears freezing on her cheeks. When she could bear it no more, the pain changed and burst through her veins with a sweet ache, filling her with deliciously evil and dangerous longings. She saw new possibilities. Why not give in and join the Atrox? Why continue the struggle?
The conflagration hissed louder, her flesh needing its touch. Shadow hands fondled her back, the caress intolerably arousing. She surrendered and stretched out her arms. But as she ran her hands over her body, her fingers touched the talisman, and the trance broke. She recoiled and tried to step away from the fire. The blaze grabbed her and drew her back, its soft swelling roar trying to comfort her.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Talisman

“Chris was fading, his image flickering in the breeze, a suggestion of the person he had been centuries back seeming to eclipse the person he had become.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
But he didn’t seem angry: he stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes full of gratitude. “You’re the embodiment of the Scroll now, Catty,” he said reverentially. “My job is complete. No heir before you has had the courage to do what you did. The Prophecy has been fulfilled.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Prophecy

“Finally, Jimena spoke. "Maybe Tianna is the becoming."
"What does that mean?" Tianna asked.
"I don't remember completely," Jimena said. "In the beginning of the ancient world, when Selene stopped the Atrox from destroying hope, the Atrox vowed to bring an unimaginable curse upon the world. Followers call it the becoming. The gods call it the becoming sorrows, but what that means I don't know yet."
"Do you think Tianna will do something?" Serena asked. "Maybe like Pandora, she'll release—"
"I would never do anything to hurt people." Tianna interrupted, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Do you think I'd free disease and misery like Pandora? I'm not that stupid."
Catty put an arm around Tianna. "You'd never do it on purpose, but maybe—"
She shrugged off Catty's hand. "I wouldn't do it even by accident. Think about it. If the Atrox asked you to open a jar or a trunk, would you?"
Catty shrugged.
"But suppose there's something you're going to do or have already done that will start an unstoppable series of events," Serena suggested. "Like when you used the Secret Scroll—"
"Would you get off it?" Tianna shot back angrily. "I thought I could defeat the Atrox then."
Serena ignored her and looked at Jimena. "Do you think that could be it? Could Tianna have done something when she summoned the Atrox? Maybe the becoming sorrows only refers to a new era when the Atrox is stronger and Tianna would be the becoming because she helped it escape its binding."
"It's possible," Jimena agreed.
"She didn't do it intentionally," Catty added as if trying to protect Tianna from their accusations.
"Of course it was accidental," Jimena agreed, but there was doubt in her eyes. "Tianna would never do anything like that on purpose. We'll have to wait and see what happens.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Becoming

“I’ll do this for everyone I’ve loved that it has destroyed.”
“It’s the only way to stop your becoming,” he said, as if that would give her solace. Then he kissed her cheek and started to fall back, dissolving into a flicker of shade.
“Stanton,” she asked, stopping him. “What is this becoming everyone has been talking about?”
His words drifted to her as the wind swept his shadow away. “Becoming the mother of the Atrox’s child.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Becoming

“Shadows writhed over her with sensual slowness, lulling her with each caress, and the faint scent of sulfur permeated the air. Something familiar stirred inside her, awakening, and she no longer felt afraid. She stretched, enjoying the sensation of soft air wrapping around her. She slid her hands down her body, reveling in a primitive feeling of wickedness. Her fingers caught on the sword’s hilt. She jerked her hand away and jarred the blade, making the tip slice her ankle. Pain shot up her leg.
Do you have something you want to do? The Atrox asked.
The words slipped across her mind.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her will to fight had vanished, replaced with only one desire: to please her master. She drew the sword from her waistband. The blade licked her thigh and its energy flared in warning, igniting her blood on the point. She let it fall. It hit something solid, as if she were still standing on the rocky shore. The clatter rang into the universe and echoed through her with terrible, foreboding force.
For the briefest moment she hesitated, unsure, but then the swarming dark twirled lazily around her. She closed her eyes again and fell back, dissolving in the Atrox’s embrace. She was becoming.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Becoming

“This place was hers. She grew aware of the many kinds of trees that made this Great Web, branches crowning overhead, roots speaking to each other beneath the soil. She knew a few names: oak, larch, rowan. She caught her breath at the great age of the elder trees. She closed her eyes, and her head bowed with concentration, for she sensed they wished to speak to her. Yes, these were the oldest trees, reaching to her with images rather than words. They marked the years with rings inside their trunks. Look, look, so many we have seen! Then, in her mind, she was plunging down with the flow of sap, into the earth, and her mind recoiled, but the trees wanted her to see their rich life down in the soil, their roots reaching out long pathways, finding what they needed in the silence and dark.
Rhiannon gasped, opened her eyes. The forest was speaking to her, telling her of its life. Not one tree, but the whole Queenswood. Many voices. She looked up, willing herself to see this forest again as a cathedral. Her eyes sought the autumn leaves that a moment ago appeared so like the stained glass above the altar at Rosewood.
All at once, they were falling toward her like rain, withering to brown as they touched the ground. She gasped again, looking down and seeing them break apart into powder about her feet. She looked up, expecting bare branches, but instead, green leaves thronged overhead.
This place was unnatural.”
― Kathleen Schwab, Queenswood

“The Queenswood was the finest forest in the two worlds. In childhood he innocently thought all forests as rich as this one, and slowly discovered it had no equal. Rhiannon was discovering the woodland of his childhood. He was remembering it himself.
The forestfae showed themselves tentatively, then more joyfully as she welcomed them. Twin riverfae appeared, one the boisterous white of a waterfall, the other the deep green of a shadowed pool. A mother deer stepped delicately into the clearing, her spotted fawn following. A pair of foxes nudged their kits into the sun.
The forestfae were hurriedly clearing leaflitter from a table and bringing small gifts: berries, a dripping honeycomb, shelled walnuts. They urged her to sit in the chair with the tallest back, and a sigh went through the whole company when she accepted the seat.”
― Kathleen Schwab, Queenswood

“It was those flowers in your hair and your cute, frowny expression.”
“Frowny?”
“Yeah, you have a tough little scowl. Your eyes get all narrow and you pull your chin up. Ah, just like that.” He beams at my reaction. “It’s so at odds with the way you dress; it threw me off guard from the start. I didn’t realize someone so short could cause me so much trouble. You’re a persistent little wildflower.”
― Becky Jenkinson, Wildflower

“I have one more toast,” I announce, disentangling myself from Jakob’s arms. I raise my glass. “To life in all its perfect imperfections,” I say, choking up a little with wonder and tears of joy and gratitude. “And to unexpectedly happy endings. And finally, to sweet serendipity.”
― Rachel Linden, A Sprinkle of Sweet Serendipity

“One of the paper birds flew into her lap and unfolded. She read the elegant script: Daxicend, Eighth-Level Master Composer. And it had the name of his opus: The Charms of the Sea.”
― Sarah Beth Durst, Sea of Charms

“Over three weeks, I learn the basics of the sanctuary. Feeding times. Cleaning times. Exercising times. I at least see all fourteen dragons. Do everything but actually learn how to be a vet to these creatures. I don't know what I was expecting. There is no easy route when dealing with dragons. Even though I lived with these creatures my whole life, I didn't actually touch one until I was nine. There are precautions. Familiarity that leads to trust. That cultivated trust is how crafters bonded with dragons and developed crafting in the first place. It's also how one advances to be able to craft new types of metal.”
― Dana Swift, When Dealing With Dragons

“A future as bright as gold. Still I ground myself to the present, in this moment. For in this moment, I am fully myself with the people I love, all of us dealing with our dragons.”
― Dana Swift, When Dealing With Dragons

“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes. Definitely yes.”
“Good.” I clear my throat, looking anywhere and everywhere but those doe-eyes and curtain of golden hair. “And it’s yes, Chef.”
― Grace Reilly, Yes, Chef

“If this is not the poisoned perfume in question,” I began, setting the flacon down on the bedside table, “what is it?”
The King peered up at me the way one would regard a small, muttonheaded child. “Immortal Rose.”
I let out a shocked laugh— but I was the only one. The faces around me were deathly, irrevocably serious.
“As in the old fairy story?” I clarified. “About Queen Titania?”
“The very same,” Foxcourt drawled. “There is a thread of truth in every legend that keeps it alive.”
“What about that story could possibly be true?” I challenged. “That King Augustine’s wife was a fairy after all? That she was saved from an adder’s bite by breathing in the scent of a golden rose that had been born from a drop of Venia’s blood?”
As I said the words, that strange dream came over me again, of the golden figure in the garden. The flower was said to have been the goddess’s final gift before the ancient fairy gods had receded with the coming of the new faith.
“While Queen Titania was not a fairy, she was restored by a perfume your ancestor created, named after one of Venia’s many epithets, the Immortal Rose,” Eleanor said. “I believe that’s where your family name was derived from, was it not? The myth of Venia being born amid the roses in the garden of the gods.”
My mind took in the information layer by layer, the way I would unravel the scent trail of a perfume.”
― Alexandra Bracken, Immortal Rose

“The Immortal Rose perfume was, unsurprisingly, one of unusual complexity and depth. The Treasury laid out a precise blend of bergamot and orange blossom in the top notes, a heart of jasmine grandiflorum, as well as levant and centifolia roses, and a touch of musk, sacred myrrh, and benzoin at the base to ground the sweeter, airier notes.
And, of course, the divine nectar of the flowering Afallach tree to weave the heady scent through with a golden breath of magic.”
― Alexandra Bracken, Immortal Rose

“What I'm trying to tell you, the whole purpose of this long-overdue story, is please don't let your past define you like it defined me. Experience the moments, even the bad ones, then leave them behind. And most importantly, when you find happiness, don't hesitate. Run with it."
Bailey stared at the photo. She finally sighed and said, "I love you, Mim."
Willamena tilted her head curiously. "But you don't believe me."
"I believe you told me for me. And that's enough."
"I love you, too. Although that's probably hard for you to believe, as well."
Bailey got up and kissed her on the cheek. She extended the Polaroid, but Willamena shook her head.
"My grandmother used to call photographs paper ghosts, the only ghosts everyone can see," she said. "Keep that to remind you to focus on what's real.”
― Sarah Addison Allen, Paper Ghosts

“I’ve always heard you’re really difficult. But you’re not, are you? You’re just unapologetic.”
Her specific use of the word made him stop dancing. “Unapologetic?”
“I appreciate people like that,” she went on. “People who believe what they believe. Who don’t care about sucking up to others. Who don’t care about being liked.”
He swallowed. “I care about you liking me, Raina.”
― Elle McNicoll, Unapologetic Love Story

“How many times have you seen a love story with a girl like me? Probably never. You’d have to search like a fucking explorer. I wanted to find that. I searched everywhere. I made a space for people like me. Where we could say things without being ridiculed. Without the majority being disgusted. Where we could bolster each other. Where things could be how they should be, not how they are. We could be ourselves. Not the narrow, pitiful paintings of us that people like to make. We could be women. Not inspiration porn. Not cute little memes. Not burdens. Not any of the shit people think because they don’t know any better. I wanted to be part of the whole fucking world, not just a small, sad part of it.”
― Elle McNicoll, Unapologetic Love Story

“He loved me unapologetically. He saw me and loved me in and out of my mask. Now I no longer wear one. My whole life, I’ve felt unnatural. But with him, everything is easy.”
― Elle McNicoll, Unapologetic Love Story

“This ass drives me crazy every time you wear one of those short skirts,” he growled.
She laughed, kissing him again.”Is that what you thought about when you followed me through the woods, my ass?” she asked, breathless.
“Tried not to,” he said and bit her bottom lip. “But it didn’t work.”
She moaned, the feel of his fingers barely touching her driving her wild.
“Is that what you wanted, brave girl? You wandered through the woods hoping the big bad wolf would find you?”
She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her, the wetness that coated the top of her legs. His words were so close to what she’d secretly fantasized about.
“Not the big bad wolf,” she breathed. “You.”
― Laurie Gilmore, Big Bad Wolf