Katrina

“I have walked in Death to the very precipice of the Ninth Gate," Abhorsen said quietly. "I know the secrets and horrors of the Nine Precincts. I do not know what lies beyond, but everything that lives must go there, in the proper time. That is the rule that governs our work as the Abhorsen, but it also governs us. You are the fifty-third Abhorsen, Sabriel. I have not taught you as well as I should—let this be my final lesson. Everyone and everything has a time to die.”
― Garth Nix, Sabriel

“What was it like?" Manon asked quietly. "To love."

For love was what it had been—what Asterin perhaps alone of all the Ironteeth witches had felt, had learned.

"It was like dying a little every day. It was like being alive, too. It was joy so complete it was pain. It destroyed me and unmade me and forged me. I hated it, because I knew I couldn't escape it, and knew it would forever change me. And that witchling ... I loved her, too. I loved her in a way I cannot describe—other than to tell you that it was the most powerful thing I've ever felt, greater than rage, than lust, than magic." A soft smile. "I'm surprised you're not giving me the 'Obedience. Discipline. Brutality' speech."

Made into monsters.

"Things are changing," Manon said.

"Good," Asterin said. "We're immortals. Things should change, and often, or they'll get boring."

Manon lifted her brows, and her Second grinned.

Manon shook her head and grinned back.”
― Sarah J. Maas, Queen of Shadows

“Ranna," she said aloud, touching the first, the smallest bell. Ranna the sleepbringer, the sweet, low sound that brought silence in its wake.

"Mosrael." The second bell, a harsh, rowdy bell. Mosrael was the waker, the bell Sabriel should never use, the bell whose sound was a seesaw, throwing the ringer further into Death, as it brought the listener into Life.
"Kibeth." Kibeth, the walker. A bell of several sounds, a difficult and contrary bell. It could give freedom of movement to one of the Dead, or walk them through the next gate. Many a necromancer had stumbled with Kibeth and walked where they would not.
"Dyrim." A musical bell, of clear and pretty tone. Dyrim was the voice that the Dead so often lost. But Dyrim could also still a tongue that moved too freely.
"Belgaer." Another tricksome bell, that sought to ring of its own accord. Belgaer was the thinking bell, the bell most necromancers scorned to use. It could restore independent thought, memory and all the patterns of a living person. Or, slipping in a careless hand, erase them.
"Saraneth." The deepest, lowest bell. The sound of strength. Saraneth was the binder, the bell that shackled the Dead to the wielder's will. And last, the largest bell, the one Sabriel's cold fingers found colder still, even in the leather case that kept it silent.
"Astarael, the Sorrowful," whispered Sabriel. Astarael was the banisher, the final bell. Properly rung, it cast everyone who heard it far into Death. Everyone, including the ringer.”
― Garth Nix, Sabriel

“Wake me when whatever terrible thing is about to happen happens, or if it appears I might get wet.”
― Garth Nix, Lirael