Best 25 quotes of Traci Chee on MyQuotes

A good leader protects his own, if you ask me.

An infinite supply of paper, to be sure, but nothing more than paper, strewn with marks like debris from an explosion.

Captain Reed eyed him thoughtfully. "I built my whole life around the stories they about me. You know what I learned?" Archer shook his head. "What you do makes you who you are....

Everything in the world could be found in the points of contact between them: all the ins and outs of the tides, the pulsations of stars in the sky, and the running of wolves across the cold north—all part of the same rhythm. This one. Theirs.

If you didn't like your own life, you changed it. You ran away. You did something spectacular. you didn't steal someone else's story and pretend it was yours.

If you want to save him, you can't keep him.

In Kelanna, when you die, they don’t say prayers for you, for they have no heaven and no gods to pray to. There is no reincarnation; you will not return. Without a body, you are nothing anymore, except for a story.

In that moment, the nameless boy understood: This was the end. He was going to die. He would cease to breathe. Cease to be. Cease to hurt. It would be easy. But he didn't want to die.

It was little more than a weak flame flickering under the weight of his melancholia, but it was there. A splinter of possibility. Maybe he didn't want to die. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to live. It didn't burn away his sadness. It didn't make his future appear any less dark. But it was there—hope, perhaps, or something like it—and it was enough.

Living is messy.

Los libros son máquinas del tiempo y rompecabezas y llaves de cerrojos que ni siquiera sabíamos que existían en lo profundo de nuestro corazón.

Maybe someone was reading her right now, and if she looked up, she would see their eyes staring down at her, following her every move. Maybe someone was reading the reader.

Nothing was okay. And he was far from home.

Once there was, and one day there will be.

Peace through war. Seems a funny way to go about it, if you ask me.

Survival is overrated.

Rovon said very seriously, looking into her eyes, "You never have to take a life, Riki. You always have a choice." Archer folded his napkin. Almost picked a fight with his uncle. Almost walked out. A choice? Sometimes the choice was kill or die.

Sentiment makes fools of us all.

Soft as an echo, I feel I am fading— Fading until I am gone. Still I remain. I am listening and waiting— Waiting for you to go on. Once more, once more. Tell me my story once more. Swiftly repeat it before I’m forgotten— Pleading, O tell me, once more.

The dead no longer existed. Except in story. Some stories were modest in scale, existing in a single family or a small community of believers who whispered among themselves so their loved ones would not be forgotten. Others were so powerful they would transform the very fabric of the world.

There were three ways to kill a king: You could face him with all the force of your military might, and in the end one of you would fall. You could stab him from behind like a coward, cringing in the shadows. Or you could kill him slowly, from the inside out, so he wouldn't even know until it was too late. If you did your job right, he might even thank you for it. These were the differences between Soldiers, Assassins, and Politicians. Only Politicians did it with a certain flair.

Together, we can do anything.

What is written comes to pass.

What’s more important, is that you survived.” “Why?” The captain poured himself a finger of liquor and clinked their glasses. “Because survivors get to decide who the heroes are. And the villains.

With bones of ships and soldiers at her feet. With blood on her hands and nothing inside.