Kahlan Weir

“She bobbed her chin toward the walls. “Do you see what grows around this place?”
Nikolai peered at the twisting gray branches that ran along the perimeter of the garden. “A thorn wood.” An ordinary one, he assumed, not the ancient trees they needed for the obisbaya.
“I took the cuttings from the tunnel that leads to the Little Palace. It’s all prickles and spines and anger, covered in pretty, useless blossoms and fruit too bitter to eat. There is nothing in it worth loving.”
“How wrong you are.”
Zoya’s gaze snapped to his, her eyes flashing silver—dragon’s eyes. “Am I?”
“Look at the way it grows, protecting everything within these walls, stronger than anything else in the garden, weathering every season. No matter the winter it endures, it blooms again and again.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

“I will put a bullet in your brain before I let that happen, Nikolai."
"My ruthless Zoya, I'll load the gun myself.”
― Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars

“You will grow to hate me. I’m too sharp. Too angry. Too spiteful.” “You are all of those things, but you are so much more,”
― Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

“One day your luck will run out, Mister Brekker.”
“Then I’ll just have to make some more.” He paused and turned to look back over his shoulder at her. “The Suli never forget their own, General Nazyalensky. Just like crows.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves