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![花と悪魔 1 [Hana to Akuma 1] by Hisamu Oto](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1333991475l/6019613._SY75_.jpg "花と悪魔 1 [Hana to Akuma 1] by Hisamu Oto")
![たいようのいえ 1 [Taiyou no Ie 1] by Taamo](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1326570185l/13413172._SY75_.jpg "たいようのいえ 1 [Taiyou no Ie 1] by Taamo")
Midas braces an elbow on the arm of his chair, setting his face into his hand as he regards the other king, and now my stomach churns for an entirely new reason. Because there’s a gleam in my king’s eye, an inkling of contemplation.
Omg she keeps saying "my king" shes everything tamlin could hope for
“Rhysand stared at me for long enough that I faced him.
"Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don't feel anything at all.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
"Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don't feel anything at all.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
“You asked if I thought my fiction had changed anything in the culture and the answer is no. Sure, there's been some scandal, but people are scandalized all the time; it's a way of life for them. It doesn't mean a thing. If you ask if I want my fiction to change anything in the culture, the answer is still no. What I want is to possess my readers while they are reading my book--if I can, to possess them in ways that other writers don't. Then let them return, just as they were, to a world where everybody else is working to change, persuade, tempt, and control them. The best readers come to fiction to be free of all that noise, to have set loose in them the consciousness that's otherwise conditioned and hemmed in by all that isn't fiction. This is something that every child, smitten by books, understands immediately, though it's not at all a childish idea about the importance of reading.”
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―
“His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor.
"What do you want?" I demanded.
"A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples.
I paused. "From what?"
He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. "From this mess."
I sat up farther on my pallet of the hay. I'd never seen him so candid.
"That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. "You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court - not her harlot."
So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him - what it would do to me - to be enslaved to someone like that. "Why are you telling me this?"
The swagger and nastiness were gone. "Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh. "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a - "
"You can leave if you're just going to insult me."
"But I'm so good at it". He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighted. "One wrong move tomorrow, Freyre, and we're all doomed.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
"What do you want?" I demanded.
"A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples.
I paused. "From what?"
He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. "From this mess."
I sat up farther on my pallet of the hay. I'd never seen him so candid.
"That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. "You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court - not her harlot."
So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him - what it would do to me - to be enslaved to someone like that. "Why are you telling me this?"
The swagger and nastiness were gone. "Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh. "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a - "
"You can leave if you're just going to insult me."
"But I'm so good at it". He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighted. "One wrong move tomorrow, Freyre, and we're all doomed.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
“There are different kinds of darkness,” Rhys said. I kept my eyes shut. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful.” I pictured each. “There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”
― A Court of Mist and Fury
― A Court of Mist and Fury
“I turn sentences around. That’s my life. I write a sentence and then I turn it around. Then I look at it and I turn it around again. Then I have lunch. Then I come back in and write another sentence. Then I have tea and turn the new sentence around. Then I read the two sentences over and turn them both around. Then I lie down on my sofa and think. Then I get up and throw them out and start from the beginning. And if I knock off from this routine for as long as a day, I’m frantic with boredom and a sense of waste. Sundays I have breakfast late and read the papers with Hope. Then we go for a walk in the hills, and I'm haunted by the loss of all that good time. I wake up Sunday mornings and I'm nearly crazy at the prospect of all those unusable hours. I'm restless, I'm bad-tempered, but she's a human being too, you see, so I go. To avoid trouble she makes me leave my watch at home. The result is that I look at my wrist instead. We're walking, she's talking, then I look at my wrist - and that generally does it, if my foul mood hasn't already. She throws in the sponge and we come home. And at home what is there to distinguish Sunday from Thursday? I sit back down at my little Olivetti and start looking at sentences and turning them around. And I ask myself, Why is there no way but this for me to fill my hours?”
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