Best 16 quotes of Sarah E. Morin on MyQuotes

Arpien cleared his throat, removed his cap, and pressed his palms together in the Fifth Stance of Bereavement for Distant Relatives and Especially Good Cooks.

Arpien didn't like tears. On the few occasions he'd tried to ease a maiden's tears, she inexplicably started producing more. How to fix this? He assumed the Sixth Stance of Deep Mourning and flourished the Bow of Esteemed Members of Foreign Nation States. "My condolences on the loss of your-" "Pickle?" She offered him one from the clay crock.

Brierly, if we fight without hope, we're defeated before we start.

Did you want to save me now or does later fit better into your schedule?

He looked foolish and noble and vulnerable and battle-hardened all at once. As though every wound, every mistake, had been healed but not erased. Brierly had immortalized every scar in gold. Was that how she saw him? If so, how could he do less than return the courtesy?

His princess was dusty. Arpien should have expected that. Anything lying undisturbed for a hundred years would gather dust. He'd crossed the ocean to find the right sword for this venture, but neglected to pack a feather duster.

His princess was dusty.

His sister. Sweet. But a seventeen-year-old in a gorgeous new dress does not want to be told by any sort of prince, Rescuing or Regular, that she reminds him of his eleven-year-old sister.

Invisible people see invisible things.

She sighed. "Well, there's nothing for it. You better come with me so I can keep an eye on you." "I thought I was keeping an eye on you?" "Well, it can't hurt if I look back.

She’s still under a curse. And this one you cannot save her from, because she put her own self under it.

She was struck again by the unlikely vibrancy of the color brown.

The day of the ball came at last, and with it the tedious and delightful rituals of femininity.

The lovely young lady in the mirror was not a stranger, nor was she Lady Overlooked. Once again, Brierly had found some essential core of her model and designed the whole dress around it. Brierly had gathered Nissa’s brown hair in a loose pile on top of her head, with a curl spilling over here and there. The comb secured a single rose just verging on full bloom. Nissa still looked short and sturdy but—endearingly so. A friendly elf. Youthful, but not childish. The dress flattered and concealed the correct curves. Not even Aunt Perturbance would mistake her for fifteen tonight. Nissa blushed–ith pleasure at her appearance, yes–but mainly that her childhood heroine would think so highly of her as to craft such a masterpiece. That she would know her so well as to reflect the true Nissa, but love her so well as to reflect the best possible Nissa.

There are as many versions of good as there are politicians.

To believe in anything takes risk," Arpien said. "Perhaps the risk of disappointed hopes is greater than the reward of fulfilled ones.