Inheritance Games Quotes

Everything’s a game, Avery Grambs. The only thing we get to decide in this life is if we play to win.

Why do I have to tell a story?” I asked. “Because if you don’t tell the story, someone else will tell it for you.

Heads, I kiss you. Tails, you kiss me. And either way, it means something.

We aren’t normal. This place isn’t normal, and you’re not a player, kid. You’re the glass ballerina—or the knife.

If yes is no and once is never, then how many sides does a triangle have?

Sometimes things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core.

Est unus ex nobis. Nos defendat eius." She is one of us. We protect her.

He left you the fortune, Avery, and all he left us is you.

Traps upon traps. And riddles upon riddles.

You don't have to kiss me. You don't even have to like me, Heiress, but please don't make me do this alone.

As awful as it sounds, money is power, and power is magnetic.

Nothing is certain but death and taxes.

Better the devil you do know than the devil you don't

I love you. I would die to protect you. I would make you hate me to keep you safe because damn it, Avery—some things are too precious to gamble.

why kill two birds with one stone when you can kill twelve

I came to see you,” Jameson told me. “Every day. The least you could have done was wake up while I was here, tragically backlit, unspeakably handsome, and waiting.

The trick to being abandoned was to never let yourself long for anyone who left.

The only person I trust with all that I am and all that could be, Heiress, is you.

Picture yourself standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind is whipping your hair. The sun is setting. You long, body and soul, for one thing. One person. You hear footsteps behind you. You turn. Who's there? I remembered a voice. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.

It would be shame," Jameson commented, "if we were related.

Sometimes all a girl really needed was a very bad idea.

Getting involved with Jameson would just be throwing gasoline on the fire." "And what a lovely fire it would be,

I don't do vulnerable," Thea retorted. "It clashes with my bitch aesthetic.

I will always protect you" he told me, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed. "You deserve to feel safe in your own home. And I'll help you with the foundation. I'll teach you what you need to know to take this life like you were born to it. But this...us..." He swallowed. "It can't happen, Avery. I've seen the way Jamerson looks at you.

Grayson told me. “I wanted her to be you.” “Don’t say that,” I whispered. He looked at me one last time. “There are so many things that I will never say.

If there's one thing the Hawthorne family isn't, it's fine. They were a twisted, broken mess before you got here, and they'll be a twisted, broken mess once you're gone.

The more complicated a person’s strategy seemed, the less likely an opponent was to look for simple answers. If you could keep someone looking at your knight, you could take them with a pawn. Look past the details. Past the complications.

Right." Thea dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "No feminism at the dinner table.

Sometimes you gotta excise a wound before it can heal.

You think I didn’t fight the same fight? I halfway convinced myself that as long as Avery was just a riddle or a puzzle, as long as I was just playing, I’d be fine. Well, joke’s on me, because somewhere along the way, I stopped playing.

I am a human Rube Goldberg machine," he said. "I do simple things in complicated ways

Where are you going?” I asked him. After everything it has taken to get to this point, he couldn’t just walk away. “To hell, eventually,” Jameson answered. “Probably to the wine cellar, for now.

The world is the board, Heiress. We just have to keep rolling the dice.

Grayson Hawthorne was arrogant enough to consider himself bulletproof—and honorable enough to see a promise through to its end.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry. He's been looking for something. He's been looking for it since the day he was born.

Everything's a game. Avery Grambs. The only thing we get to decide in life is if we play to win.

Thea isn't a girl. She's a whirlwind wrapped in a hurricane wrapped in steel.

Don't be sorry, Ms. Grambs. Be worthy of it.

I don’t believe in destiny or fate—I believe in choice. Love wasn’t just a choice—it was dozens, hundreds, thousands of choices. Every day was a choice.

Grayson was Not Pleased - and no one did Not Pleased like Grayson Hawthorne.

This was the Grayson I’d met weeks ago: dripping power and well aware that he could come out on top in any battle. He didn’t make threats, because he didn’t have to.

I'm not the glass ballerina," I said firmly. "I'm not going to shatter.

Is it smash the patriarchy? I hope it’s smash the patriarchy.

I'm a hypercompetitive, bisexual perfectionist who likes to win and looks like this. I'm no stranger to being hated

Sometimes you have an idea of a person — about who they are, about what you'd be like together. But sometimes that's all that it is: an idea. And for so long, I have been afraid that I loved the idea of Emily more than I will ever be capable of loving anyone real.” He looked at me like the act of doing so was painful and sweet. “It was never just the idea of you, Avery.

That's the thing, Mystery Girl. I don't think I'm turning anything into a riddle. I don't think I have to. You are a riddle, a puzzle, a game - my grandfather's last.

Hit me with all those thinky thoughts,

Nash Hawthorne would probably tip his cowboy hat to Death herself.

Jameson had a habit of tossing out words that should matter like they didn't at all.

Your silence on the issue of people trying to kill you is deeply disturbing.

I stepped into the secret passageway to find Jameson waiting for me. “Fancy meeting you here, Heiress.” “You,” I told him, “are the most annoying person on the face of the planet.

Like, even in fiction, friends to lovers? Never my thing. I'm more star-crossed tragedy, supernatural soul mates, enemies to lovers. Epic, you know?

...but if there is one universal truth in the human experience, it is that a finely honed scone-eating palate does not just develop overnight.

We all know that any emotional bias -- irrespective of truth or falsity -- can be implanted by suggestion in the emotions of the young, hence the inherited traditions of an orthodox community are absolutely without evidential value.... If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences. With such an honest and inflexible openness to evidence, they could not fail to receive any real truth which might be manifesting itself around them. The fact that religionists do not follow this honourable course, but cheat at their game by invoking juvenile quasi-hypnosis, is enough to destroy their pretensions in my eyes even if their absurdity were not manifest in every other direction.

Giving money to individuals does little.” “It does a lot,” I said quietly, “for those people.

Let the rest of the players think I’m dealing with daddy issues. Hawthornes have grandaddy issues instead.

Why kill two birds with one stone, he always said, when you could kill twelve?

sometimes it feels good to smack the hell out of something.

When words are real enough, when they’re the exact right words, when what you’re saying matters, when it’s beautiful and perfect and true—it hurts.

Everything hurts.” Only Grayson Hawthorne could say that and still sound utterly bulletproof. “It hurts all the time, Avery, but I know the man I was raised to be.

I am an expert at not wanting to want things.” I held my sword up for a moment longer, then lowered it, the way he’d lowered his. “But I’m starting to realize that the person I need to be, the person I’m becoming—she’s not that girl anymore.

The answer to your first riddle,” I told him. “If yes is no and once is never, then the number of sides a triangle has… is… two.” I drew out my reply, not bothering to explain how I’d arrived at my answer

THAT FAXING CHIPHEAD CAN GO STRAIGHT TO ELF AND EAT A BAG OF DUCKS!!!

Hawthornes aren’t supposed to break, his voice whispered in my memory. Especially me.

It’s not just clothing. It’s a message. You’re not deciding what to wear. You’re deciding what story you want your image to tell. Are you the ingenue, young and sweet? Do you dress to this world of wealth and wonders like you were born to it, or do you want to walk the line: the same but different, young but full of steel?

I told you kid... You're not a player. You're the glass ballerina--- or the knife.

Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

There is no such thing as fighting dirty, I told Nash, if you win.

What is the human condition, if not Why me?

In the past six weeks, I’d been shot at, blown up, kidnapped, and paraded around as the living, breathing embodiment of Cinderella stories. To the world, I was a scandal, a mystery, a curiosity, a fantasy.

Jameson was close to me now. Too close. Every one of the Hawthorne boys was magnetic. Larger than life. They had an effect on people—and Jameson was very good at using that to get what he wanted. He wants something from me now.

Jameson smiled. It was his slow, dangerous, heady smile, designed to elicit a reaction. I didn’t give him one.

Right." ... "No feminism at the dinner table.

You don't have to kiss me now. You don't have to love me now, Heiress. But when you're ready...When you're ready, if you're ever ready, if it's going to be me - just flip that disk. Heads, I kiss you. Tails, you kiss me. And either way, it means something.

Now, if that’s everything, I have an empire to build and a girl to chase.

He gently traced the line of my jaw. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You have my word.” He thought he could protect me. He wanted to. He was touching me, and all I wanted was to let him. Let him protect me. Let him touch me.

So, to summarize,” Max said, “the dead uncle? Not dead, might be your father. Hot boys are also tragic, everyone wants a piece of your fine ash, and the woman who tried to have you killed is foxing your father?

I love you. I would die to protect you. I would make you hate me to keep you safe because damn it, Avery-some things are too precious to gamble.

Some of us exist just a little too loudly for the comfort of those who would prefer we did not exist at all

He was arrogant and awful and had spent the first week of our acquaintance dead set on making my life hell. He was still half in love with Emily Laughlin. But from the first moment I'd seen him, looking away had been nearly impossible. And at the end of the day, he'd chosen me. Over family. Over his mother.

I don't want to explain to you what I don't want to explain to you.

She’s delightfully Machiavellian, and she hates to lose.” Xander was absolutely unapologetic. “I like what that does to my odds.

I wasn't delusional. I wasn't dreaming. I was an heiress.

Some people are smart. Some people are good." He opened his eyes and put a hand on each of my shoulders. "And some people are both.

Secrets, lies, All I despise. The tree is poison, Don’t you see? It poisoned S and Z and me. The evidence I stole Is in the darkest hole. Light shall reveal all I writ upon the…

My psychic senses,” Max announced, “are now attuned to that picture, and I’m getting some pretty clear messages about communing and abs.

When his thumb hovered over the red button, she stared at him aghast. “You’re truly going to … torture me?” He cast her a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I torture you?” Because you used to love me, used to cherish me. “I thought we had a moment yesterday? Didn’t you like seeing me in lingerie?” In a monotone voice, he said, “Why did the charge throwers have no ill effect on you?” He’s truly going to do it? Then fuck him. DEFCON. “Chase, I’ve tussled with vibrators stronger than your charge throwers.” No reaction. “You consumed energy. And channeled it at will. How?” All Valkyrie consumed it—they were each connected through a grid of mystical energy—but Regin was the only one she knew of who could radiate it through her body. She’d inherited the talent from her birth mother. “So how does one get started as a magister? College or trade school?” “I don’t have the time or patience for games. Now, tell me, why do you … glow?” “I touched a radioactive alien cock once.” He pressed the button.

But sometimes a person’s brain starts cycling. No matter what you do, the same thoughts just keep repeating, over and over. You get stuck in a loop, and when you’re inside that loop, you can’t see past it. You’ll keep coming up with the same possibilities, to no end, because the answers you need—they’re outside the loop. Distractions aren’t just distractions. Sometimes they can break you out of the loop.

You’re a billionaire now. You have an entire team of people to protect you. The world is your motherfaxing oyster. It’s okay to want things.” Max turned off the shower. “It’s okay to go after what you want.

You hated the idea of me.” “But not you. Never you.” “I wanted Eve to be different,” Grayson told me. “I wanted her to be you.” “Don’t say that,” I whispered. He looked at me one last time. “There are so many things that I will never say.

Social butterflies like flitting around and are eager to break limits and push boundaries when they perceive rules as outdated or restrictive. They embrace variability and renewal and want to transform and reevaluate inherited norms, reshaping them in the light of new realities. ("When forgetting the rules of the game")

Nash. Grayson. Jameson. Xander.” He said their names one at a time. “You were the clay, and I was the sculptor, and it has been the joy and honor of my life to make you better men than I will ever be. Men who may curse my name but will never forget it.

What if he hates me?" "No one could possibly hate you, Xander," I told him, my heart twisting. "Avery, people have hated me my whole life." There was something in his tone that made me think that very few people understood what it was like to be Xander Hawthorne. "Not anyone who knows you," I said fiercely. Xander smiled, and something about it made me want to cry. "Do you think it's okay," he said, sounding younger than I'd ever heard him, "that I loved playing those Saturday morning games? Loved growing up here? Loved the great and terrible Tobias Hawthorne?

I never meant to hurt you," Grayson told her. "I know," Gigi said simply. She's not leaving. I haven't lost her. Grayson didn't ignore the emotions twisting in his gut and rising up inside him. For once in his life, he just let them come. "I like my sister," he told her. This time, there was nothing pained about Gigi's smile. "I know.

The first scone is what I like to call the practice scone." Xander stuffed an entire scone in his mouth, handed one to me, then swallowed and continued lecturing. "It is not until the third—nay, fourth—scone that you develop any kind of scone-eating expertise." "Scone-eating expertise," I repeated in a deadpan. "Your nature is skeptical," Xander noted. "That will serve you well in these halls, but if there is one universal truth in the human experience, it is that a finely honed scone-eating palate does not just develop overnight.

Sometimes you have an idea of a person — about who they are, about what you'd be like together. But sometimes that's all that it is: an idea. And for so long, I have been afraid that I loved the idea of Emily more than I will ever be capable of loving anyone real.” He looked at me like the act of soing so was painful and sweet. “It was never just the idea of you, Avery.

I'm sorry, Max." She made a dismissive sound. "Yeah, well, the next time someone tries to shoot you, you're going to have buy me something really nice to make it up to me. Like Australia." "You want me to buy you a trip to Australia?" I asked, thinking that could probably be arranged. "No." Her reply was pert. "I want you to buy me Australia. You can afford it." I snorted. "I don't think it's for sale." "Then I guess that you have no choice but to avoid getting shot at." "I'll be careful," I promised.

Repeat after me, Gray: My feelings are valid.” “Stop talking,” Grayson ordered. “My emotions are real,” Xander continued. “Go on. Say it.” “I’m hanging up on you now.” “Who’s your favorite brother?” Xander called loudly enough that Grayson could still hear him even as he removed the phone from his ear. “Nash,” he answered loudly. “Lies!” Grayson’s phone vibrated. “I’m getting another call,” he told Xander. “More lies!” Xander said happily. “Give my regards to Girl Grayson!” “Good-bye, Xander.” “You said good-b—

In theory, the risk of business failure can be reduced to a number, the probability of failure multiplied by the cost of failure. Sure, this turns out to be a subjective analysis, but in the process your own attitudes toward financial risk and reward are revealed. By contrast, personal risk usually defies quantification. It's a matter of values and priorities, an expression of who you are. "Playing it safe" may simply mean you do not weigh heavily the compromises inherent in the status quo. The financial rewards of the moment may fully compensate you for the loss of time and fulfillment. Or maybe you just don't think about it. On the other hand, if time and satisfaction are precious, truly priceless, you will find the cost of business failure, so long as it does not put in peril the well-being of you or your family, pales in comparison with the personal risks of no trying to live the life you want today. Considering personal risk forces us to define personal success. We may well discover that the business failure we avoid and the business success we strive for do not lead us to personal success at all. Most of us have inherited notions of "success" from someone else or have arrived at these notions by facing a seemingly endless line of hurdles extending from grade school through college and into our careers. We constantly judge ourselves against criteria that others have set and rank ourselves against others in their game. Personal goals, on the other hand, leave us on our own, without this habit of useless measurement and comparison. Only the Whole Life Plan leads to personal success. It has the greatest chance of providing satisfaction and contentment that one can take to the grave, tomorrow. In the Deferred Life Plan there will always be another prize to covet, another distraction, a new hunger to sate. You will forever come up short.

To begin with, we have to be more clear about what we mean by patriotic feelings. For a time when I was in high school, I cheered for the school athletic teams. That's a form of patriotism — group loyalty. It can take pernicious forms, but in itself it can be quite harmless, maybe even positive. At the national level, what "patriotism" means depends on how we view the society. Those with deep totalitarian commitments identify the state with the society, its people, and its culture. Therefore those who criticized the policies of the Kremlin under Stalin were condemned as "anti-Soviet" or "hating Russia". For their counterparts in the West, those who criticize the policies of the US government are "anti-American" and "hate America"; those are the standard terms used by intellectual opinion, including left-liberal segments, so deeply committed to their totalitarian instincts that they cannot even recognize them, let alone understand their disgraceful history, tracing to the origins of recorded history in interesting ways. For the totalitarian, "patriotism" means support for the state and its policies, perhaps with twitters of protest on grounds that they might fail or cost us too much. For those whose instincts are democratic rather than totalitarian, "patriotism" means commitment to the welfare and improvement of the society, its people, its culture. That's a natural sentiment and one that can be quite positive. It's one all serious activists share, I presume; otherwise why take the trouble to do what we do? But the kind of "patriotism" fostered by totalitarian societies and military dictatorships, and internalized as second nature by much of intellectual opinion in more free societies, is one of the worst maladies of human history, and will probably do us all in before too long. With regard to the US, I think we find a mix. Every effort is made by power and doctrinal systems to stir up the more dangerous and destructive forms of "patriotism"; every effort is made by people committed to peace and justice to organize and encourage the beneficial kinds. It's a constant struggle. When people are frightened, the more dangerous kinds tend to emerge, and people huddle under the wings of power. Whatever the reasons may be, by comparative standards the US has been a very frightened country for a long time, on many dimensions. Quite commonly in history, such fears have been fanned by unscrupulous leaders, seeking to implement their own agendas. These are commonly harmful to the general population, which has to be disciplined in some manner: the classic device is to stimulate fear of awesome enemies concocted for the purpose, usually with some shreds of realism, required even for the most vulgar forms of propaganda. Germany was the pride of Western civilization 70 years ago, but most Germans were whipped to presumably genuine fear of the Czech dagger pointed at the heart of Germany (is that crazier than the Nicaraguan or Grenadan dagger pointed at the heart of the US, conjured up by the people now playing the same game today?), the Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy aimed at destroying the Aryan race and the civilization that Germany had inherited from Greece, etc. That's only the beginning. A lot is at stake.