Best 47 quotes in «the raven cycle quotes» category

Ronan, who had spent nine hundred dollars on a tattoo merely to piss off his brother.

She’d been so afraid of the absolute worst that she’d forgotten how she missed the absolute best.

That is what you said! You think you can just pay me to talk to your friend? Clearly you pay most of your female companions by the hour and don’t know how it works with the real world, but…but..” Blue remembered that she was working to a point, but not what that point was. Indignation had eliminated all higher functions and all that remained was the desire to slap him. The boy opened his mouth to protest, and her thought came back to her all in a rush. “Most girls, when they’re interested in a guy, will sit them with for free .

The head is too wise. The heart is all fire.

The interior would have resembled the backseat of a really big car if the seat belts hadn't had five-point fasteners that looked like they belonged in an X-wing fighter.

There is no good word for the opposite of lonesome. One might be tempted to suggest togetherness or contentment , but the fact that these two other words bear definitions unrelated to each other perfectly displays why lonesome cannot be properly mirrored. It does not mean solitude, nor alone, nor lonely, although lonesome can contain all of those words in itself. Lonesome means a state of being apart. Of being other. Alone-some.

Today, Blue thought, is the day I stop listening to the future and start living it instead.

Ronan’s expression was still incendiary. His code of honor left no room for infidelity, for casual relationships. It wasn’t that he didn’t condone them; he couldn’t understand

She drifted towards the bedroom, on her way to have a bath or take a nap or start a war.

The demon kept pulling him unconscious, and in those short bursts of blackness, the dreamer snatched at light, and when he swam back to consciousness, he thrust the dream into reality. He shaped them into flapping creatures and earthbound stars and flaming crowns and golden notes that sang by themselves and mint leaves scattered across the blood-streaked pavement and scraps of paper with jagged handwriting on them: Unguibus et rostro. But he was dying.

They set off on the perfectly straight ley line, Ronan's gaze still directed up to his plane and to Chainsaw, a white bird and a black bird against the azure ceiling of the world.

Wanting to live, but accepting death to save others: that was courage. That was to be Gansey's greatness.

What happened to your face?" Blue asked. Adam shrugged ruefully. Either he or Ronan smelled like a parking garage. His voice was self-deprecating. "Do you think it makes me look tougher?" What it did was make him look more fragile and dirty, somehow, like a teacup unearthed from the soil, but Blue didn't say that. Ronan said, "It makes you look like a loser." "Ronan," said Gansey. "I need everyone to sit down!" shouted Maura.

Whenever he required a small burst of fireworks to his heart, he would remove the folder from the bedside drawer and look at the contents while enjoying a beer or seven.

Where the hell is Ronan?” Gansey asked, echoing the words that thousands of humans had uttered since mankind developed speech. As he stepped out of the science building, he tipped his head backwards, as if Ronan Lynch – dreamer of dreams, fighter of men, skipper of classes – might somehow be flying overhead.

Where the hell is Ronan?" Gansey asked, echoing the words that thousands of humans had uttered since mankind developed speech.

Why Anglo-Saxon history?” At the time it had struck the Gray Man as a foolish and unanswerable question. The things that drew him to that time period were surely unconscious and many-headed, diffused through his blood from a lifetime of influences.

What she wanted was to see something no one else could see or would see, and maybe that was asking for more magic than was in the world.

And everywhere, everywhere there were books. Not the tidy stacks of an intellectual trying to impress, but the slumping piles of a scholar obsessed.

You look like a super villain with your familiar," Adam said. Ronan’s smile cut his face, but he looked kinder than Blue had ever seen him, like the raven in his hand was his heart, finally laid bare.

Adam translated, "Not death, but his brother, sleep.

Because Adam practised at many things, Adam was good at many things, but this – what was it even called? Scrying, sensing, magic, magic, magic. He was not only good at it, but he longed for it, wanted it, loved it in a way that nearly overwhelmed him with gratitude. He had not known that he could love, not really. Gansey and he had fought about it, once – Gansey had said, with disgust, Stop saying privilege. Love isn’t privilege. But Gansey had always had love, had always been capable of love. Now that Adam had discovered this feeling in himself, he was more certain than ever that he was right. Need was Adam’s baseline, his resting pulse. Love was a privilege. Adam was privileged; he did not want to give it up. He wanted to remember again and again how it felt.

Al observar el cielo nocturno, había algo que tiraba de ella, algo que la empujaba a ver más que estrellas, a encontrar un sentido en el caos del firmamento , a extraer de él una imagen precisa.

But what [Gansey] said was, "I'm going to need everyone to be straight with each other from now on. No more games. This isn't just for Blue, either. All of us." Ronan said, "I'm always straight." Adam replied, "Oh, man, that's the biggest lie you've ever told." Blue said, "Okay.

But this was not what Blue was told. Again and again, she had her fingers spread wide, her palm examined, her cards plucked from velvet-edged decks and spread across the fuzz of a family friend’s living room carpet. Thumbs were pressed to the mystical, invisible third eye that was said to lie between everyone’s eyebrows. Runes were cast and dreams interpreted, tea leaves scrutinised and séances conducted. All the women came to the same conclusion, blunt and inexplicably specific. What they all agreed on, in many different clairvoyant languages, was this: If Blue was to kiss her true love, he would die.

Blue opened and closed her chilly fists. The top edges of her fingerless gloves were fraying; she’d done a bad job knitting them last year, but they had a certain trashy chic to them. If she hadn’t been so vain, Blue could’ve worn the boring but functional gloves she’d been given for Christmas. But she was vain, so instead she had her fraying fingerless gloves, infinitely cooler though also colder , and no one to see them but Neeve and the dead.

Did you get notes for me?" "No", Ronan replied,"I thought you were dead in a ditch.

Gansey.” A pause. “That’s all there is.

He was so much more dangerous when he wasn't angry.

He was just alive," [Gansey] said helplessly. "He just taught us four irregular verbs last week. And you killed him.

I am a beautiful thing, shaped for fighting.

His heart was a grave.

Henry shuffled the jewelled insect back out of his pocket. It amber heart warmed light through the pit again. “Back in the lab, of course, as father dear tries to copy it with nonmagical parts. My mother told me to keep this one to remind me of what I am.” “And what is that?” The bee illuminated both itself and Henry: its translucent wings, Henry’s wickedly cut eyebrows. “Something more.

I know when I'm awake and when I'm asleep," Ronan Lynch said. Adam Parrish, curled over himself in a pair of battered, greasy coveralls, asked, "Do you?" "Maybe I dreamt you," he said. "Thanks for the straight teeth, then," Adam replied.

Humans were so circular; they lived the same slow cycles of joy and misery over and over, never learning. Every lesson in the universe had to be taught billions of times, and it never stuck. Maybe it was good that the world forgot every lesson, every good and bad memory, every triumph and failure, all of it dying with each generation. Perhaps this cultural amnesia spared them all. Perhaps if they remembered everything, hope would die instead.

If Glendower had not saved Gansey's life, he did not know who to thank, or who to be, or how to live.

"Even Dwarfs Started Small," Calla replied immediately. "In the original German: Auch Zwerge haben klein angefangen." Maura winced, though Blue couldn't tell if it was at the movie or at Calla's accent.

I know you are not the same as him, Adam said. But in my head, everything is always so tangled. I am such a damaged thing.

It shouldn't have happened at all, but their friendship had been cemented in only the time it took to get to school that morning - Adam demonstrating how to fasten the Camaro's ground wire more securely, Gansey lifting Adam's bike halfway into the trunk so they could ride to school together, Adam confessing he worked at a mechanic's to put himself through Aglionby, and Gansey turning to the passenger seat and asking, "What do you know about Welsh kings?

It'll be OK. I'm ready. Blue, kiss me.

Is that all?" "That's all there is

It was 6:21.

It was true that Blue was just shy of five feet and it was also true that she hadn't eaten her greens, but she'd done the research and she didn't think the two were related.

Look," Adam said. He rubbed a finger over the dust of the back window. Next to a Blink-182 sticker was an Aglionby decal.

It wasn't that he expected to see the dead. All of the sources said that church watchers had to possess the second sight, and Gansey barely possessed first sight before he put his contacts in. He just hope for something.

Not like this. At least you have a place to go. 'End of the world' ... What is your problem, Adam? I mean, is there something about my place that's too repugnant for you to imagine living there? Why is it that everything kind I do is pity to you? Everything is charity. Well, here it is: I'm sick of tiptoeing around your principles." "God, I'm sick of your condescension, Gansey," Adam said. "Don't try to make me feel stupid. Who whips out repugnant? Don't pretend you're not trying to make me feel stupid." "This is the way I talk. I'm sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. He was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive." Both of them stopped breathing. Gansey knew he'd gone too far. It was too far, too late, too much.

It was the gnawing suspicion that you were leavable, that you were too much trouble, that you were better off dead. It was the shame of wanting something you shouldn't; it was the ugly thrill of nearly being dead. It was all those things, all at once.