Margo

“

All of it is representative of a truth. Truths cast many shadows, some of which are very different when the light shines from one direction than from another. The library is a compromise -- that's truth. The library is a battleground. That's also a kind of truth.

The library is many things from many angles. Both blessing and curse. A razor blade given to a baby; a rope thrown to a drowning man.

”
― Mark Lawrence, The Book That Wouldn’t Burn

“Roz,” he said, and his thumb brushed her bottom lip. She shivered. “When I was up north and felt I would lose my mind among the dead... When I thought I would be the next to die, and on the worst days, when I hoped I would be... I thought of home. I thought of midnights beside the river, and the way the houses in Ombrazia are so close together, it makes the world feel small. I thought of running through the alleys, of sneaking out to the Mercato, of treading water in the summers. Those memories kept me sane. And you know what?” His eyes were endlessly sad. Dark and infinite. “You were in every single one of them. Everything that reminded me of home—everything that reminded me of happiness—centered around you. Every time I looked up at the moon, I remembered when we were nine and I asked what would happen if it fell from the sky. How you laughed yourself silly at me, and said that although space was infinite, the moon never stopped circling earth. How it couldn’t stop even if it wanted to. And even back then, I knew which one of us was the earth.”
[...]
“I wanted to be your earth,” Damian said, more softly now. “Just once. Just for a moment.”
― M.K. Lobb, Seven Faceless Saints

“In those moments, in the space between frantic heartbeats, Roz was no longer just his earth. She was his universe, his sun, the atmosphere from which he drew breath.”
― M.K. Lobb, Seven Faceless Saints

“Dreams are strange curiosities,” he said, eyes still on the balloon.
“Sure, everyone possesses the ability to lay their heads down and imagine,
but to do so without limitations or doubt? That is something else entirely.
Dreams are boundless, shapeless things. Given strength and form from
individual imaginations. They’re wishes.” He looked at me, then reached
out and removed my hatpin. “All it takes is one shard of doubt to wedge
itself into them”—he swiftly stuck the balloon with my pin, and the air
whooshed out as it descended to the ground—“and they deflate. If you can
dream without limits, you can soar to great heights. Let the magic of your
imagination set you free.”
― Kerri Maniscalco, Escaping from Houdini