Amanda Morrison

“Reading is...” His brows knit together and then his forehead smoothed as the right words appeared to dawn on him. “It’s going somewhere without ever taking a train or ship, an unveiling of new, incredible worlds. It’s living a life you weren’t born into and a chance to see everything colored by someone else’s perspective. It’s learning without having to face consequences of failures, and how best to succeed.” He hesitated. “I think within all of us, there is a void, a gap waiting to be filled by something. For me, that something is books and all their proffered experiences.”
― Madeline Martin, The Last Bookshop in London

“There is a code among the dying: let the living speak. They have longer to atone for it.”
― Amanda Peters, The Berry Pickers

“Who cares if they’re okay?” Misaki said impatiently. “They were terrible.” “They were just Texca’s hired security. As far as we know, they haven’t done anything except accept a job from the wrong guy.” “They pulled their machetes on Elleen,” Misaki said indignantly, “a teenage girl.” “Well, after meeting you, I doubt they’ll make that mistake again. You realize that’s the idea, don’t you? Not to destroy the people of this city but to make them better.” “Those men haven’t even lived in this city for a week. They’re foreigners.” “So are you,” Robin said. “So was I, when I first came here. We can’t claim to be crime-fighters if we disrespect life just as much as the criminals we fight.” “I don’t think killing a horrible, hostile person is really disrespecting life,” Misaki said. “Most koronu would say that it’s a duty.” It was agreed upon across all warrior cultures—Kaigen, Yamma, Sizwe—that killing in self-defense or defense of the innocent was a noble thing.”
― M.L. Wang, The Sword of Kaigen

“The little wooden bird is gone. The last of her past life, carried away with the dead. For months, she will keep reaching for the bird, hand drifting to her pocket the way it might to a stubborn curl, a motion born of so much habit. She cannot seem to remind her fingers it is gone, cannot seem to remind her heart, which stutters a little every time she finds the pocket empty. But, there, blooming amid the sorrow, is a terrible relief. Every moment since she left Villon, she has feared the loss of this last token. Now that it is gone, there is a guilty gladness tucked among the grief.”
― Victoria E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue