Darker Shade Of Magic Quotes

I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.

I'm not going to die," she said. "Not till I've seen it." "Seen what?" Her smile widened. "Everything.

I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg.” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.

For the ones who dream of stranger worlds.

Sure I do,” countered Lila cheerfully. “There’s Dull London, Kell London, Creepy London, and Dead London,” she recited, ticking them off on her fingers. “See? I’m a fast learner.

Hesitation is the death of advantage.

As Athera. To grow. As Pyrata. To burn. As Illumae. To light. As Orense. To open. As Anase. To dispel. As Hasari. To heal. As Travars. To Travel.

You know so little of war. Battles may be fought from the outside in, but wars are won from the inside out.

Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive. Simple as that.

The bodies in my floor all trusted someone. Now I walk on them to tea.

Bad magic, Kell had called it. No, thought Lila now. Clever magic. And clever was more dangerous than bad any day of the week.

A life worth having is a life worth taking.

But the thing about people, Kell had discovered, is that they didn't really want to know. They thought they did, but knowing only made them miserable.

He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time they were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people. For someone who never stood still, Lila felt like a pin in Kell's world. One he was sure to snag on.

Aren't you afraid of dying?" he asked Lila now. She looked at him as if it were a strange question. And then she shook her head. "Death comes for everyone," she said simply. "I'm not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of dying here." She swept her hand over the room, the tavern, the city. "I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.

You look more ready to storm a city than seduce a man.

Lila Bard knew in her bones that she was meant to be a pirate.

His magic is powerful, intoxicating. I'm a butterfly caught in his net, unable and unwilling to escape. I'm his ....... totally his". (Ana to Christian)

Looking for trouble, he'd say. You're gonna look til you find it. Trouble is the looker, she'd answer. It keeps looking till it finds you. Might as well find it first. Why do you want to die? I don't, she'd say. I just want to live.

Time isn't the same for the mad and the blind.

Word of mouth was its own kind of magic.

Lila Bard lived by a simple rule: if a thing was worth having, it was worth taking.

I'm not going to die," she said. "Not till I've seen it." "Seen what?" Her smile widened. "Everything.

Are you ready ?" she asked, spinning the chamber. Kell gazed through the gate at the waiting castle. "No." At that, she offered him the sharpest edge of a grin. "Good," she said. "The ones who think they're ready always end up dead.

What are you?" she asked. "A monster," said Kell hoarsely. "You'd better let me go." The girl gave a small, mocking laugh. "Monsters don't faint in the presence of ladies." "Ladies don't dress like men and pick pockets," retorted Kell. Her smile only sharpened. "What are you really?" "Tied to your bed," said Kell matter-of-factly. "And?" His brow furrowed. "And in trouble.

I love you, Kell, but I had no interest in matching tattoos.

You have a house if not a home," she spat. "You have people who care for you if not about you. You may not have everything you want, but I'd wager you have everything you could ever need, and you have the audacity to claim it all forfeit because it is not love." "I--" "Love doesn't keep us from freezing to death, Kell," she continued, "or starving, or being knifed for the coins in our pocket. Love doesn't buy us anything, so be glad for what you have and who you have because you may want for things but you need nothing.

Delilah Bard,” she said. “We’ve met before. And you looked worse.” Rhy laughed silently. “I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg,” said Lila. “I was myself entirely.” Rhy broke into his perfect smile. “I like this one,” he said to Kell. “Can I borrow her?” “You can try,” said Lila, raising a brow. “But you’ll be a prince without his fingers.

Kell managed an echo of her smile, and [Lila] gasped. "What's that on your face?" The smile vanished. "What?" "Never mind," she said, laughing. "It's gone.

Where did you get this?" he asked. "In a pocket in your coat," said Lila, stretching. "By the way, did you know that your coat is more than one coat? I'm pretty sure I went though five or six to find that." Kell stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?" she asked. "How did you know what it was for?" Lila shrugged. "I didn't." "What if it had been poison?" he snapped. "There's really no winning with you.

A fine idea,” said Rhy. “But no. We must go out, you see, because we’re on a mission.” “Oh?” asked Kell. “Yes. Because unless you plan to wed me yourself—and don’t get me wrong, I think we’d make a dashing pair—I must try and find a mate.

Kell wore a very peculiar coat. It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible.

I thought you said–" "I said Rhy forgave them. I never said I did.

He’s … charming and spoiled, generous and fickle and hedonistic. He would flirt with a nicely upholstered chair, and he never takes anything seriously.

Kell wore a very peculiar coat. It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible. The first thing he did whenever he stepped out of one London and into another was take off the coat and turn it inside out once or twice (or even three times) until he found the side he needed. Not all of them were fashionable, but they each served a purpose. There were ones that blended in and ones that stood out, and one that served no purpose but of which he was just particularly fond.

Do you know what makes you weak?” said Holland. “You’ve never had to be strong. You’ve never had to try. You’ve never had to fight. And you’ve certainly never had to fight for your life.

men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft.

One adventure at a time.

Magic made things simple. Sometimes, thought Kell, it made things too simple.

I apologize for shooting you in the leg," said Lila. "I was entirely myself.

Looking for trouble, he’d say. You’re gonna look till you find it. Trouble is the looker, she’d answer. It keeps looking till it finds you. Might as well find it first.

Battles may be fought from the outside in, but wars are won from the inside out.

Kell stared at her, at a loss. Was her bravado a front, or did she truly have so little to lose? But she had a life, and a life was a thing that could always be lost.

Barron's kindness was like a curse, because she knew she had done nothing to deserve it.

The queen considered him, her pale lips curling at the edges. “The bodies in my floor all trusted someone. Now I walk on them to tea.

She dragged her head up and saw Kell standing in the road, the strange magical boy in his black coat, looking breathless and angry. Lila couldn’t believe it.

Such is the quandary when it comes to magic, that it is not an issue of strength but of balance. For too little power, and we become weak. Too much, and we become something else entirely.

We can't all turn blood and whispers into weapons.

A respectable prison is still a prison.

No,” he said. “That’s not magic, Lila. That’s just murder.

No London is truly without magic

Kell frowned deeply. It is amazing, thought Lila, that he doesn’t have more wrinkles.

What are you?” she asked. “A monster,” said Kell hoarsely. “You’d better let me go.” The girl gave a small, mocking laugh. “Monsters don’t faint in the presence of ladies.” “Ladies don’t dress like men and pick pockets,” retorted Kell. Her smile only sharpened. “What are you really?” “Tied to your bed,” said Kell matter-of-factly.” “And?” His brow furrowed. “And in trouble.

Stay with me,” said Kell. “Stay with me. Rhy. Listen to my voice.” “Such a nice voice,” said Rhy quietly, his head lolling forward. “Rhy.

As Travars

Some thought magic came from the mind, others the soul, or the heart, or the will. But Kell knew it came from the blood. Blood was magic made manifest. There it thrived. And there it poisoned. Kell had seen what happened when power warred with the body, watched it darken in the veins of corrupted men, turning their blood from crimson to black. If red was the color of magic in balance—of harmony between power and humanity—then black was the color of magic without balance, without order, without restraint. As an Antari, Kell was made of both, balance and chaos; the blood in his veins, like the Isle of Red London, ran a shimmering, healthy crimson, while his right eye was the color of spilled ink, a glistening black.

He was taught early that magic reclaimed magic, and earth reclaimed earth, the two dividing when the body died, the person they had combined to be simply forfeit, lost. Nothing lasted. Nothing remained.

I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still

Pretty thing," whispered an old woman from a doorway in Maktahm. "Pretty skin. Pretty bones." "This way, Master," called another. "Come inside." "Rest your feet." "Rest your bones." "Pretty bones." "Pretty blood." "Drink your magic." "Eat your life." "Come inside.

Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time those points were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people.

Are you afraid of dying? Holland had asked him in the alley. And Kell was. Had always been, ever since he could remember. He feared not living, feared ceasing to exist. Lila's world may believe in Heaven and Hell, but his believed in dust. He was taught early that magic reclaiemd magic, and earth reclaimed earth, the two dividing when the body died, the person they had combined to be simply forfeit, lost. Nothing lated. Nothing remained.

Lila, one of these days, you're going to get yourself killed." "Would you miss me?" she asked. "Like an itch," he shot back.

Kell looked her in the eyes. “You will be trapped there,” he said. “When it is over.” Lila shivered. “Perhaps,” she said, “or perhaps I will go with you to the end of the world. After all, you’ve made me curious.

Power in Balance. Balance in Power.

Love doesn’t keep us from freezing to death, Kell,” she continued, “or starving, or being knifed for the coins in our pocket. Love doesn’t buy us anything, so be glad for what you have and who you have because you may want for things but you need for nothing.

You don’t know anything about these worlds,” he said, but the fight was bleeding out of his voice. “Sure I do,” countered Lila cheerfully. “There’s Dull London, Kell London, Creepy London, and Dead London,” she recited, ticking them off on her fingers. “See? I’m a fast learner.

My life is mine to spend," she said. "And I will not spend it here, no matter how nice your city is, or how much safer it might be. We had a deal, Kell. And now you have Tieren to guard your story and heal your brother. I'm of no use to him. Let me be of use to you.

Lila would rather steal a thing outright than be indebted to kindness.

Lila Bard knew in her bones that she was meant to be a pirate. All she needed was a working ship.

What child didn't wish to know if his bedtime stories were the stuff of fiction or of truth?

It seemed like a good plan, or at least, like the best of several bad ones. But

Crime isn't that complicated. People steal because taking something gives them something. If they're not in it for the money, they're in it for control. The act of taking, of breaking the rules, makes them feel powerful. They're in it for the sheer defiance. Some people steal to stay alive, and some steal to feel alive.

Lila knew what it felt like to want something, knew the way it whispered and sang and screamed in your bones. And this felt like that, but wasn’t. An impostor of longing.

Kell had a strange feeling about the girl, but he pushed it aside.

How did you lose it?” he asked. Lila frowned. “Lose what?” His weathered fingers drifted up beneath her chin. “Your eye.

All of them screamed by the end.

Lila. A soft name but she used it like a knife, slashing out the first syllable, the second barely a whisper of metal through air.

The air was full of blood and magic,

There is nothing I would not give you.” Kell’s chest ached. “I know.” “You are my brother. My closest friend.” “I know.

When this is over,” she said, tucking the watch into a fold of her cloak. “I want to be the one to slit his throat.

Walls aren't always where they ought to be.

Death comes for everyone... I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.

The owner of the Stone’s Throw was built like a brick wall—if a brick wall decided to grow a beard—tall

Hesitation is the death of advantage,

Like I said, you can never have too many knives.” Kell

I am not empty. I am not Hollow. I am not dead. I am Rhy Maresh. I am the king of Arnes. And I am unbreakable.

Trouble is the looker, she’d answer. It keeps looking till it finds you. Might as well find it first.

And to my readers, both the loyal and the new, because without you, I’m just a girl talking to myself in public. This is for you.

Kell looked down at Delilah Bard, a cutthroat and a thief, a valiant partner and a strange, terrifying girl. He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time those points were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people. For someone who never stood still, Lila still felt like a pin in Kell’s world. One he was sure to snag on.

I wish you wouldn't indulge him," said the Prince Regent, whose name was also George (Kell found the Grey London habit of sons taking father's name both redundant and confusing) with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It gets his spirits up." "Is that a bad thing?" asked Kell. "For him, yes. He'll be in a frenzy later. Dancing on the tables talking of magic and other Londons. What trick did you do for him this time? Convince him he could fly?" Kell had only made that mistake once.

But time isn’t the same for the mad and the blind.

Kell had told his brother about the deals he struck in Grey London, and in White, and even on occasion in Red, about the various things he’d smuggled, and Rhy had stared at him, and listened, and when he spoke, it wasn’t to lecture Kell on all the ways it was wrong, or illegal. It was to ask why. “I don’t know,” said Kell, and it had been the truth. Rhy had sat up, eyes bleary from drink. “Have we not provided?” he’d asked, visibly upset. “Is there anything you want for?” “No,” Kell had answered, and that had been a truth and a lie at the same time. “Are you not loved?” whispered Rhy. “Are you not welcomed as family?” “But I’m not family, Rhy,” Kell had said. “I’m not truly a Maresh, for all that the king and queen have offered me that name. I feel more like a possession than a prince.” At that, Rhy had punched him in the face. For a week after, Kell had two black eyes instead of one, and he’d never spoken like that again, but the damage was done.

They have little in common, save for their geography, and the fact that each has a version of this city straddling this river on this island country, and in each, that city is called London.

Magic was a living thing---that, everyone knew---but to Kell it felt like more, like a friend, like family. It was, after all, a part of him (much more than it was a part of most) and he couldn't help feeling like it knew what he was saying, what he was feeling, not only when he summoned it, but always, in every heartbeat and every breath. He was, after all, Antari.

He would see her again. He knew he would. Magic bent the world. Pulled it into shape. There were fixed points. Most of the time those points were places. But sometimes, rarely, they were people. For someone who never stood still, Lila still felt like a pin in Kell’s world. One he was sure to snag on. He

She handed back the cigar and dug the silver watch out of her vest pocket. It was warm and smooth, and she didn't know why she liked it so much, but she did. Maybe because it was a choice. Taking it had been a choice. Keeping it had been one, too. And maybe the choice started as a random one, but there was something to it.

Magic,” he said. Black magic. Strong magic. Dead magic. “Bad magic.” Finally, Lila slipped. For the briefest moment, her eyes flicked to a chest along the wall. Kell didn’t hesitate. He lunged for the top drawer, but before his fingers met the wood, a knife found his throat. It had come out of nowhere. A pocket. A sleeve. A thin blade resting just below his chin. Lila’s smile was as sharp as its metal edge. “Sit down before you fall down, magic boy.” Lila

And then, Kell watched with horror as his echo began to unfasten his tunic, one button at a time. Kell gave a small, strangled laugh. "You've got to be kidding me." Lila only smiled and rolled the stone in her palm as the Kell that wasn't Kell slid slowly, teasingly, out of his tunic and stood there, bare chested. His fingers began to undo the belt at his waist. "Okay, enough," said Kell. "Dispel it." She sighed. "You're no fun." "This isn't fun." "Maybe not for you," she said with a smirk as the other Kell continued his striptease, sliding the belt from its loops.

Kell frowned. 'I've never met anyone like you.' He hadn't meant it as a compliment but Lila took it that way, flashing him a grin. 'What can I say,' she said, 'I'm one of a kind.' Well managed an echo of her smile, and she gasped. 'What's that on your face?' The smile vanished. 'What?' 'Never mind,'she said, laughing. 'It's gone.' Kell only shook his head--he didn't grasp the joke--but whatever it was, it seemed to delight Lila, and she chuckled to herself all the way to whit bury.

Astrid Dane. . . Her long colorless hair was woven back into a braid, and her porcelain skin bled straight into the edges of her tunic. Her entire outfit was fitted to her like armor; the collar of her shirt was high and rigid, guarding her throat, and the tunic itself ran from chin to wrist to waist, less out of a sense of modesty, Kell was sure, than protection. Below a gleaming silver belt, she wore fitted pants that tapered into tall boots (rumor had it that a man once spat at her for refusing to wear a dress; she’d cut off his lips). The only bits of color were the pale blue of her eyes and the greens and reds of the talismans that hung from her neck and wrists and were threaded through her hair. . . “I smell something sweet,” she said. She’d been gazing up at the ceiling. Now her eyes wandered down and landed on Kell. “Hello, flower boy.