Baz Pitch Quotes

You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I'd wake up every morning and think, 'This will end in flames.

Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire. He's constantly drawing you in. And you're constantly stepping too close. And you know it's not good--that there is no good--that there's absolutely nothing that can ever come of it. But you do it anyway. And then... Well. Then you burn.

Carry on, Simon.

And sometimes holes want to get bigger, but Baz was wrong—sometimes they just want to be filled.

Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you’re this happy. And it hurts to look at you when you’re depressed. There’s no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn’t tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.

What a ridiculous creature. Happy that I put butter on his sandwich. As if I wouldn't make the world spin backwards if I thought he'd like it better that way.

Even some of our cookbooks are banned. (Though it's been centuries, at least, since the Pitches ate fairies.) (You can't even find fairies anymore.) (And it isn't because we ate them all.)

Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me. Just not today.

This thing between us didn't start with us dating. It didn't even start when you kissed me. You're in me so deep, I wouldn't know how to dig you out. I may get fed up with you... But, Simon, I'll never get tired of you.

I thought we had the sort of love that you can't set down or walk away from. An undying fire. The love you hear about in the old stories. No one told Simon Snow the old stories.

He smiles, and he's made of trouble. We should have dropped him in the Thames in a bag of stones. We should have left him out for the fairies.

Go on, then," he says. "Carry on, Simon.

Simon Snow is grinning at me, holding out a live rat like a single-stemmed rose.

The way you were before… Simon Snow, there wasn’t a day when I believed we’d both live through it.“ “Though what?” “Life. You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I’d wake up every morning and think, ‘This will end in flames.

What do you want from me, Snow?" "Nothing," he says. And he means it, the actual bastard.

Baz is standing in front of a full-length mirror, wearing—I swear to Merlin—a flowered suit.

No flowers,'' He kisses my cheek. ''So noted, rosebud boy.'' I look up at him. ''That's what the ghost called me— your mother. That's what she said.'' Baz is looking in my eyes. ''I remember.'' He runs his thumb over my cheek. Then my bottom lip. ''My rosebud boy.

I understand that you've lost something— a lot of things— but you're still the same person. I know, because I loved you then, and I love you now, and I know that's not enough to make you happy— to make anyone happy— but you're the same person, Simon. You're still you.'' ''It's enough,'' he finally grumbles. ''What is,'' I whisper. ''The fact that you love me. It does make me happy.

You.. love me?'' Snow nods. ''Yeah,'' he says, ''of course.'' Like it's obvious. It isn't obvious. It has not been obvious. ''You never said,'' I say. ''Haven't I?'' ''No.'' He frowns. ''I thought- I mean... I've killed so many things for you.'' I laught. It might be another sob, but mabe it's just a laugh. ''What are you, a house cat? Am I supposed to know how you feel because you brought me a mouse?'' The corner of Snow's mouth twitches. ''I brought you a cow once, remember? And I killed that chimera for you in fifth year.

I'd cross every line for him. I'm in love with him. And he likes this better than fighting.

You literally couldn't be a bigger mess". "And you like that? "I love it". "Why?" "Because we match".

So hot,” Simon says. “Got to see you fight without picking a fight with you myself. [...] “I promise to be just as hot later,” I say. “I’ll start fires all the way across the Midwest.

I know I'll never love anyone like I love Baz. I know he's the love of my life. Of all my lives. The Mage believed in reincarnation. Of a thousand lives stacked on top of each other. ''Some lives we squander,'' he said. ''And some we seize.'' This was my life to find love. The truest love. The biggest.

My favourite part of kissing Simon when he’s cold is the way he goes warm in my hands. Like I’m the living campfire. Like I’m the one who lives. I warm him in my arms, and then he warms me in his. He gives it all back to me. I’d give him all that I am. I’d give him all that I was. I’d open up a vein. I’d tie our hearts together, chamber by chamber.

Simon catches up with me and traps me against the car. He’s kissing me before I see it coming, bending me back over the boot. “You were amazing,” he says, taking a breath. “You didn’t even need a wand.

(Because I'm disturbed. Ask anyone.)

I've loved him through worse. I've loved him hopelessly...So what's a little less hope?

My dad loves marriage rites. Any sort of family magic, actually. He and my mother are bound together in five dimensions.’ ‘That’s lovely,’ Baz says, and I’m terrified because I think he means it.

Baz is touching me, and it's good. (Touching Baz is always good; it'd be easier if I could just touch him all the time. And kiss him. And not have to be kissed.)

She looks over at his empty bed, and her sadness is so potent that in that moment, I'd do anything to get him back for her. (I'd do anything to bring him back.)

Simon takes my elbow. "Ride with me," he says, looking at the place where his hand is touching my arm. "There are stars.

Simon's beautiful in battle: He never stops. You never see him plan his next move. He doesn't plan, he just moves.

It's always fire with Baz. I can't believe he hasn't incinerated me yet. Or burned me at the stake.

But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.

I tought I looked cool behind the wheel, I wasn't prepared for Baz. I wouldn't be able to look away from him, if there wasn't so much else to take in.

I don't kill predators," he says. "Why not? Fellow feeling?" "They're to important to the ecosystem.

Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled up in a sneer... I know that face as well as my own.

Rome wasn't built on mutual admiration.

We're cool and mysterious and better-looking than any couple has a right to be.

There's no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn't tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.

It’s Baz they’re checking out, not me. He’s got to be scared, or at least nervous, but he doesn’t look it. I swear he gets less ruffled the more that he’s threatened. (When I’m the one threatening him, that’s infuriating. But it’s kind of cool now.)

Penelope Bunce is a fierce magician, I’ve never minded saying it. She’s just escaped from handcuffs and a flaming car. She’s casting spells without her wand in a dead spot. Harry Houdini himself couldn’t top it.

Baz tries to elbow her back. "Put on your seat belt!" "But I made a road trip playlist!" "Are you trying to kill us all before we can listen to it?

I don’t think you’re supposed to raise it while you’re driving,” I say. “But they always do it in music videos”—he yanks at the other side—“and Bond films.

A month ago, I would have walked to the sofa and touched his shoulder. Three months ago, I would have dropped a kiss on his cheek. Last September, when he and Bunce first moved into this flat, I would have had to pull my mouth away from his to ask the question, and he might not have let me finish.

He looks like some sort of disgraced angel. (I suppose that'd be a demon.)

He really does look perfect. Whatever strange look he’s going for—Gothic pop star—it works for him.

Simon looks over at me. “What?” “Nothing,” I say. “What?!” he shouts. He can’t hear a thing I’m saying over the wind and the engine and the classic rock. “I hate this fucking car!” I shout back. “The sun is burning me! I might actually catch fire, at any moment!” The wind is blowing Simon’s hair straight, and he’s squinting—from the sun and from all the smiling. “What!” he shouts at me again. “You’re so beautiful!” I shout back. He turns the radio down, so now there’s just the wind and the engine noise to shout over. “What’d you say?!” “Nothing!

Is Simon okay? I mean, obviously, no, never. The real question is—what kind of not-okay is he at the moment? And what do I need to do to deal with it?

He looks away from me, covering his mouth. “What are you laughing at.” He looks down, but waves his hand at me. “You—your—” I refuse to look down at myself. “My what, Snow?” “Your hair.” I refuse to touch my hair. “You look like that guy, with the wig—” He mimes playing the piano. “Duh, duh, duh, duhhh.” “Beethoven?” “I don’t know his name. With the big wig. There was a film about him.” “Mozart. You’re saying I look like Mozart.” “You’ve got to look, Baz, it’s a scream.

That's one way I've bettered you. I was weak enough to give your son a chance. And look at him now - he may be dead, but he isn't lost. He's dark as a pitch and sharp as a blade, and he's full of your magic. He's a bonfire. He'd make you proud, Tasha.

There’s no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn’t tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.

I never thought I’d be the first thing you ever gave up on.

It's unnecessarily grandiose to use an 'open sesame' on the door, but I do it anyway because I know everyone will be in the dining hall, and I may as well make an entrance.

You were the sun, and I was crashing into you.

Come on, Snow. Let's see America.

No flowers,'' He kisses my cheek. ''So noted, rosedbud boy.'' I look up at him. ''That's what the ghost called me— your mother. That's what she said.'' Baz is looking in my eyes. ''I remember.'' He runs his thumb over my cheek. Then my bottom lip. ''My rosebud boy.

You were the sun and I was crashing into you.

It would be too much for anymore

Every magician inherits some family artefact. Baz has a wand, like me; all the Pitches are wandworkers. But Penny has a ring. And Gareth has a belt buckle. (It’s really inconvenient—he has to thrust his pelvis forward whenever he wants to cast a spell. He seems to think it’s cheeky, but no one else does.)

So . . . ,” she says, following him to the chalkboard. “You got a Visiting. An actual Visiting—Natasha Grimm-Pitch was here.” Baz glances back over his shoulder. “You sound impressed, Bunce.” “I am,” Penelope says. “Your mother was a hero. She developed a spell for gnomeatic fever. And she was the youngest headmaster in Watford history.” Baz is looking at Penny like they’ve never met. “And,” Penny goes on, “she defended your father in three duels before he accepted her proposal.” “That sounds barbaric,” I say. “It was traditional,” Baz says. “It was brilliant,” Penny says. “I’ve read the minutes.” “Where?” Baz asks her. “We have them in our library at home,” she says. “My dad loves marriage rites. Any sort of family magic, actually. He and my mother are bound together in five dimensions.” “That’s lovely,” Baz says, and I’m terrified because I think he means it. “I’m going to make time stop when I propose to Micah,” she says. “The little American? With the thick glasses?” “Not so little anymore.” “Interesting.” Baz rubs his chin. “My mother hung the moon.” “She was a legend,” Penelope beams. “I thought your parents hated the Pitches,” I say. They both look at me like I’ve just stuck my hand in the soup bowl. “That’s politics,” Penelope says. “We’re talking about magic.” “Obviously,” I say. “What was I thinking.” “Obviously,” Baz says. “You weren’t.” “What’s happening right now?” I say. “What are we even doing?” Penelope folds her arms and squints at the chalkboard. “We,” she declares, “are finding out who killed Natasha Grimm-Pitch.” “The legend,” Baz says. Penelope gives him a soft look, the kind she usually saves for me. “So she can rest in peace.

He once told him everything was a story, and that Simon was the hero. They'd been dancing at the time. Touching. Baz was looking at Simon like anything was possible for them now, like love was inevitable.

Kiss me in the Catacombs, Snow. Unhallow the ground.” “I’ll unhallow your ground,” he says, kissing me. I don’t think he can see me – his mouth lands halfway onto my chin. I’m laughing, making it worse. “You’re absurd,” I say. “Look. I already said I’m a twat.

Simon's lying on the ground. His wing is bent the wrong way. Lamb: "Yes, all right, I've betrayed you. Just keep your cool, Baz, and you'll live to hate me for it." I'll live... Simon. We heard gunshots. On the other side of the hill. And then we didn't. Simon's on the ground, his wing is bent the wrong way. Someone should fix it for him. Someone should cast a spell. I'd cast it, but I'm in a dead spot. I'm in a Quiet Zone. I'm keeping my wand a secret, I'm pretending to be a vampire. "Simon..." Simon Snow. The way you were. There wasn't a day I believed we'd both live through it. (Through what, through what, through what?) Lamb: "The treaty holds!" Simon: Simon is on the ground. There were gunshots, and then there weren't. His wing is bent the wrong way. His hair is a mess. He doesn't have a sword. I told him it would be alright. I told him... I didn't tell him, I never told him. Not in a way that he believed. Not in a way that he could let in and hold onto. Everything he was to me. That he was everything. Simon, Simon... You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I'd wake up every morning and tell myself... I'd tell myself... "You live in fear! In denial!" Simon is on the ground. His wing is bent the wrong way. His blood is red and abundant. It smells like brown butter. His hair is a mess, his face is in the sand. He doesn't know how much I love him. He's never really heard it. I'd wake up every morning and tell myself... "Simon, love, get up. We still have to save Agatha." Simon is on the ground. This will end in flames.

I wonder how long he's wanted this. I wonder how long

I wonder how long he's wanted this. I wonder how long I've wanted it.