Marcelle

“The people in this country are in furious rages at each other after the last vote, she said, and the government we’ve got has done nothing to assuage it and instead is using people’s rage for its own political expediency. Which is a grand old fascist trick if ever I saw one, and a very dangerous game to play. And what’s happening in the United States is directly related, and probably financially related.”
― Ali Smith, Winter

“Her name is Nora Walker.
I don’t know anything about her, yet somehow I remember the arch of her smile. The soft river of her hair. The flutter of her eyes when she watches me. The scent of her skin like jasmine and vanilla. And when her lips purse together and she hums a song under her breath, memories I can’t possibly have pour through me. She is a name and a heartbeat that lives inside me.”
― Shea Ernshaw, Winterwood

“It's not appropriate," Tessa said to her husband, Will.
"He likes it."
"Children like all sorts of things, Will. They like sweets and fire and trying to stick their head up the chimney. Just because he likes the dagger..."
"Look how steadily he holds it."
Little James Herondale, age two, was in fact holding a dagger quite well. He stabbed it into a sofa cushion, sending out a burst of feathers.
"Ducks," he said, pointing at the feathers.
Tessa swiftly removed the dagger from his tiny hands and replaced it with a wooden spoon. James had recently become very attached to this wooden spoon and carried it with him everywhere, often refusing to go to sleep without it.
"Spoon," James said, tottering off across the parlor.
"Where did he find the dagger?" Tessa asked.
"It's possible I took him to the weapons room," Will said.
"Is it?"
"It is, yes. It's possible."
"And it's possible he somehow got a dagger from where it is secured on the wall, out of his reach," Tessa said.
"We live in a world of possibilities," Will said.
Tessa fixed a gray-eyed stare on her husband.
"He was never out of my sight," Will said quickly.
"If you could manage it," Tessa said, nodding to the sleeping figure of Lucie Herondale in her little basket by the fire, "perhapds you won't give Lucie a broadsword until she's actually able to stand? Or is that asking too much?"
"It seems a reasonable request," Will said, with an extravagant bow. "Anything for you, my pearl beyond price. Even withholding weaponry from my only daughter.”
― Cassandra Clare, The Whitechapel Fiend

“I’m erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart.”
― Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton: The Revolution