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“Could she not even have the promise of love? Why could this belong to the women in ballads, to poets and playwrights, but never to her?”
― Leigh Bardugo, The Familiar

“He died that way, alone in his bed, afraid to leave, afraid to stay, afraid to whisper anything but 'tomorrow.”
― Leigh Bardugo, The Familiar

“There is a fine line between a saint and a witch, and I wonder if you are prepared to walk it.”
― Leigh Bardugo, The Familiar

“There was pleasure in this sadness. It was the feeling of remembering great happiness you will never have again, the first flush of desire you know will never be consummated but that you can't help but hope for anyway, the desperate longing to see your beloved even when you know you are not loved in return.”
― Leigh Bardugo, The Familiar