Mountain Joy

“His rapier was at his belt, glittering as he swung. He reached down, ripped the sword clear.
I jumped over a slashing frond of plasm, spun round with the water bottle in my hand. I hurled it across to Lockwood.
George threw his rapier to me.
Watch this now. Sword and bottle, sailing through the air, twin trajectories, arching beautifully through the mass of swirling tendrils towards Lockwood and me. Lockwood held out his hand. I held out mine.
Remember I said there was that moment of sweet precision when we gelled perfectly as a team?
Yeah, well. This wasn't it.
The rapier shot past, missing me by miles. It skidded halfway across the floor. The bottle struck Lockwood plumb in the centre of his forehead, knocking him through the window.
There was a moment's pause.
'Is he dead?' the skulls voice said 'Yay! Oh. No, he's hanging onto the shutters. Shame. Still, this is defiantly the funniest thing I've ever seen. You three really are incompetence on a stick”
― Jonathan Stroud, The Hollow Boy

“Too many books. Too few centuries.”
― Jay Kristoff, Nevernight

“Snow in April is abominable," said Anne. "Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.”
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Ingleside

“and June burst over the mountain. It smelled good, tasted good, and was gentle to the eyes.”
― Jean Craighead George, My Side of the Mountain