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“Moscow, just past midwinter, and the haze of ten thousand fires rose to meet a smothering sky. To the west a little light lingered, but in the east the clouds mounded up, bruise-colored in the livid dusk, buckling with unfallen snow.”
― The Girl in the Tower
― The Girl in the Tower
“It was not death she feared. It was misunderstanding.”
― Their Eyes Were Watching God
― Their Eyes Were Watching God
“Of course he wasn't dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking. The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.”
― Their Eyes Were Watching God
― Their Eyes Were Watching God
“And then the night seemed to reach out and catch him up, fold him inside itself, so that there was only the dark where he had been.”
― The Bear and the Nightingale
― The Bear and the Nightingale
“Morozko was there, between one blink and the next. She hadn't put the men to sleep. He had. He was there, himself, real, in the treasure-room with her.
Now the winter-king was turning pale eyes on her. She stared. It was really him. Pulled to her, somehow, as she remembered his power. As though drawing him to her was easier than calling down sleep herself.
Summoned. She'd summoned the winter-king like a stray spirit.
The both realized it at the same time. The shock in his face mirrored the feeling in hers.
For an instant, they were silent.
Then he spoke. "A thunderstorm, Vasya?" he said, with effort.”
― The Winter of the Witch
Now the winter-king was turning pale eyes on her. She stared. It was really him. Pulled to her, somehow, as she remembered his power. As though drawing him to her was easier than calling down sleep herself.
Summoned. She'd summoned the winter-king like a stray spirit.
The both realized it at the same time. The shock in his face mirrored the feeling in hers.
For an instant, they were silent.
Then he spoke. "A thunderstorm, Vasya?" he said, with effort.”
― The Winter of the Witch
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