Jyn Quotes

I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad,” she said, by way of explanation.

Stardust," Jyn said. "It's that one." "How do you know that?" Curiosity and urgency mixed in his voice, as if he wanted to say: Be sure. Jyn was sure. "I know because it's me.

Jyn shrugged, unable to feign a senator’s diction any longer. “Rebellions are built on hope.” “There

Jyn had been at the Empire’s mercy before. Sometimes she’d even deserved her troubles—she couldn’t blame some petty dictator for ordering her dragged off the street and slammed into holding when she really, truly was planning to blow up his ship and steal his guns. She’d had rifles pointed at her, felt stun prods deliver jolts to her spine, and generally suffered the worst a stormtrooper was authorized to deal out. What

You know Jyn Erso?” she began, because if they didn’t the rest of the story would be meaningless. “The woman who started it all and destroyed the Death Star? The first one, the real one, I mean.” “General Skywalker and Red Squadron destroyed the Death Star,” Nath said. “Skywalker fired the last shot, was all. Jyn did everything that mattered.

Hope?" She eyed Cassian dubiously. "Is that the best the Rebel Intelligence can do?" Cassian might as well have shrugged. "Rebellions are built on hope," he said

Hope, Jyn had found, was by far the most dangerous thing in a prison. It made people do stupid things. It made them believe there was life outside the walls. And furthermore, hope hurt.

The central command computer,” he sputtered, his eyes leaking tears. “Republic forces took it out. That’s the only explanation.” Lyra pressed herself against his back while Jyn cried softly in the carrier. “I don’t even need an explanation.” What neither of them knew or could have known was that the war, so abruptly begun three years earlier, was just as suddenly over.

Other species have interstellar travel,” Jyn protested. “That didn’t just come from humans. The humans never would have figured it out if not for—” Burta

I’ve never had the luxury of political opinions

Because if you didn’t want me, you would break my heart and potentially my body.” Jyn leaned in closer, her lips centimeters from his. “Who’s to say I won’t do that anyway?” Hadder fell back onto the blanket. “You can do whatever you want to my body,” he said, his hooded eyes gazing up at her. So she did.

He gazed around in near despair. Where he had never had an issue with so-called free time, he was suddenly lost without his research; torn between uncompromising tenderness for Lyra and Jyn and a sense of burden in being able to provide a flawless future for them. The Vallt he missed no longer existed; nor did the Coruscant he and Lyra had left more than a standard year earlier. Despite the changes war had brought to the Core it might still be possible for them to ride out the conflict here. Even if it meant avoiding HoloNet news reports and steering clear of conversations about war and politics. Surely they could manage that much. Perhaps the war would end as abruptly as it had begun and life would return to normal—or at least to what had been considered normal beforehand.

My father’s revenge,” Jyn said. She resisted the urge to sneer. Her voice came out proud and defiant. “He built a flaw in the Death Star. He put a fuse in the middle of your machine and I’ve just told the entire galaxy how to light it.

They had discussed it endlessly, and while he had never been less than encouraging and enthusiastic, she had begun to wonder whether he *wanted her gone*. And maybe that was actually the case; that at this stage of the research he felt that he needed to devote himself fully to it without having to concern himself with her contentment or Jyn's development -- precisely the way she often felt at at social occasions, worrying about whether he was having a good time.

I've never had the luxury of political opinions.

If you found a place in the galaxy untouched by war—a quiet life, maybe with a family—if you’re happy, Jyn, then that’s more than enough.

To be fair,” Hadder said, sweeping Jyn’s hair off her shoulder so he could kiss her neck, “I’m much more focused on throwing myself at you.” Jyn playfully pushed him aside. “If you were so interested, why didn’t you say anything sooner?

Does he look like a killer?" She was watching Cassian and Bodhi descend into the mud when she heard Chirrut's voice. She turned to look and saw he was speaking to Baze. "No," Baze said, after a moment of thought. "He has the face of a friend." "Who are you talking about?" she asked. Baze eyed her appraisingly. "Captain Andor," he said, flat. She should have been irritated by the curt explanation. Instead she could only muster vague confusion. "Why do you ask that?" she said, looking to Chirrut now. "What do you mean, Does he look like a killer?" "The Force moves darkly near a creature that's about to kill," Chirrut answered.

Do you think that your youth protects you?" "No, Jyn said flatly. "You're right. You're smart. Still, they're going to underestimate you. Make them regret it." The girl's eyes narrowed as if the threat were right behind them. "They?" "Everyone," Enfys said. "Make them regret it.

The Empire’s a giant. And giants don’t care about ants, which means we can do whatever we want.

Jyn slammed her glass down on the table, ignoring the way the blue liquid foamed over the side. The damn rebels. Everywhere she went, they followed. Mucking it all up. Bringing the Empire down on the people who didn’t want to get involved. Why couldn’t people just be people? Why did they have to be on one side or another? If everyone would just stop caring so much, maybe the galaxy could actually find the peace everyone claimed they wanted.

She looked like she’d stepped out of her own cremation to take vengeance on the world that had done her wrong.

He'd assassinated better men than Galen—an Imperial collaborator, the man who'd built a planet killer, remorse be damned. And if Jyn came after Cassian, he'd die for his crimes. There were worse deaths. Was that what it had come to? Galen stepped forward. Cassian had the shot. But he was breathing too hard now. The rifle rose and fell. He clamped a hand on the barrel, lodged it firmly against the rocks. He was tired of crimes he never answered for. 'The Death Star is your answer. Finish this mission, and all is forgiven.' He looked at Galen Erso through his scope and saw his daughter's eyes. With a hoarse and ragged cry, he swept the rifle away from the rocks and set it in the mud at his side.

Make ten men feel like a hundred.