Katherine Arden Quotes

Every time you take one path, you must live with the memory of the other: of a life left unchosen. Decide as seems best, one course or the other; each way will have its bitter with its sweet.

Witch. The word drifted across his mind. We call such women so, because we have no other name.

Nothing changes, Vasya. Things are, or they are not. Magic is forgetting that something ever was other than as you willed it.

Wild birds die in cages.

There are no monsters in the world, and no saints. Only infinite shades woven into the same tapestry, light and dark. One man’s monster is another man’s beloved. The wise know that.

All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me. Please. Please let me help you.

Think of me sometimes," he returned. "When the snowdrops have bloomed and the snow has melted.

As I could, I loved you.

I have plucked snowdrops at Midwinter, died at my own choosing, and wept for a nightingale. Now I am beyond prophecy.

I did not know I was lonely, she thought, until I was no longer alone.

It is a cruel task, to frighten people in God’s name.

I carve things of wood because things made by effort are more real than things made by wishing.

She bent forward to breathe into his ear: "Never give me orders." "Command me, then," he whispered back. The words went through her like wine.

Sleep is cousin to death, Vasya. And both are mine.

Love is for those who know the griefs of time, for it goes hand in hand with loss. An eternity, so burdened, would be a torment. And yet—” He broke off, drew breath. “Yet what else to call it, this terror and this joy?

But yes,” he said wearily. “As I could, I loved you. Now will you go? Live.” “I, too,” she said. “In a childish way, as girls love heroes that come in the night, I loved you.

I do not understand “damned.” You are. And because you are, you can walk where you will, into peace, oblivion, or pits of fire, but you will always choose.

We who live forever can know no courage, nor do we love enough to give our lives.

You cannot take vengeance on a whole people because of the doings of a few wicked men.

Magic is forgetting the world was ever other than as you willed it.

I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.

He is full of desire. Desire and fear. He does not know what he desires, and he does not admit his fear. But he feels both, strong enough to strangle.

Vasya felt cold despite the steam. “Why would I choose to die?” “It is easy to die,” replied the bannik. “Harder to live.

I do not like half answers.' 'Stop asking half questions, then,' he said, and smiled with sudden charm.

I gave everything for you, Vasilisa Petrovna.' 'Not everything,' said Vasya. 'Since clearly your pride is intact, as well as your illusions.

Every time you take one path, you must live with the memory of the other: of a life left unchosen.

His voice was like snow at midnight.

Now hear me. Before the end, you will pluck snowdrops at midwinter, die by your own choosing, and weep for a nightingale.

You left me this mad girl, and I love her well. She is braver and wilder than any of my sons.

I’d rather my sons living, and my daughters safe, than a chance at glory for unborn descendants.

If you spend all your days bearing the burden of unforgotten wrongs you will only wound yourself.

The breath hitched in his throat. His hand caught hers, but he did not untangle her fingers. "Why are you here?" she asked him. For a moment she thought he would not answer, then he said, as though reluctant, "I heard you cry.

It is not for men and women to presume what the Lord wishes. That way lies evil, when men put themselves too high, saying, I know what God wants, for it is also what I want.

Solovey will take me to the ends of the earth if I ask it. I am going into the world, Alyosha. I will be no one's bride, neither of man nor of God. I am going to Kiev and Sarai and Tsargrad, and I will look upon the sun on the sea.

If I wanted to imprison someone until the end of days, would it not be best to use a prison that he has no desire to escape?

Many people say ‘Better to die’ until the time comes to do it,” Morozko returned.

Things are or they are not, Vasya,” he interrupted. “If you want something, it means you do not have it, it means that you do not believe it is there, which means it will never be there. The fire is or it is not. That which you call magic is simply not allowing the world to be other than as you will it.

Who is to say, in the end, that the three guardians of Russia are not a witch, a frost-demon, and a chaos-spirit? I find it fitting.

There is no magic. Things are. Or they are not.

If this is the last decision I can ever make, at least it is my decision. Let me go, Alyosha. I am not afraid.

How? I am a demon and a nightmare; I die every spring, and I will live forever.

You are too attached to things as they are,” said Morozko, combing the mare’s withers. He glanced down idly. “You must allow things to be what best suits your purpose. And then they will.

Mornings are wiser than evenings.

I have been running through the dark, trying to save all who have need of me. I have done good and I have done evil, but I am neither. I am only myself.

Only boys and fools think men are first in courage. We do not bear children.

He" —she stumbled, finished—"He has been a joy to me." And, drily, "Also a great source of frustration.

The more one knows, the sooner one grows old,” Midnight returned cheerfully.

It is time to put aside dreaming. Fairy tales are sweet on winter nights, nothing more.

That love of maidens for monsters, that does not fade with time.” He looked weary. “But the rest—I did not count on that.

Live,” she said. “You said you loved me. Live.

The world is wide, and the road will take us anywhere.

I loved her, and a curse made me forget. But she came for me and broke the curse and now I must go.

Has the world run dry of warriors?' She asked. 'All out of brave lords? Are they sending out maidens these days to do the work of heroes?' 'There were no heroes,' said Vasya between her teeth. 'There was only me.

You shouldn’t have told them I was a girl. Then they might have believed that I was dangerous.

The more one knows, the sooner one grows old,” snapped the domovaya

Am I a child? Always someone else must decide for me. But this I will decide for myself.

Would you like to meet him?” Vasya asked suddenly. “I?” Olga asked, sounding shocked. Then her lips firmed. “Yes. Even a girl in love with a devil needs someone to negotiate for her.

But I think you should be careful, Batyushka, that God does not speak in the voice of your own wishing. We have never needed saving before.

Irina, for God’s sake, praying will not keep her warm. Make soup.

With that sapphire, he bound your strength to him, but the magic did what he did not intend; it made him strong but also pulled him closer and closer to mortality, so that he was hungry for life, more than a man and less a demon. So that he loved you, and did not know what to do.

He picked her up and sank onto the warm oven-bench with her in his arms. He was gentle. His breath was the winter wind, but his flesh was warm, and his heart beat under her hand.

I want Dmitrii's admiration. I want a victory. I even want power, over princes and chyerti. I am allowed to want things, winter-king.

I will see the world beyond this forest, and I will not count the cost.

You might get to know characters in books, Ollie thought, but getting to know a human was an entirely different thing.

I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.

You are not alone, he said, in a voice no one but she could hear. Remember.

God be with you,' Sasha said, cautiously. 'I certainly hope not," returned Polunochnitsa.

Men make themselves afraid," the Bear told her, smiling. "Imagining is worse than anything they actually see.

That which you call magic is simply not allowing the world to be other than as you will it.

I did not know I was to be outdone by a little magic boy and his tricks,” he said. “I salute you, magician.” He swept her a bow from horseback. Vasya did not return the bow. “To small minds,” she told him, spine very straight, “any skill must look like sorcery.

You do not know what you are; can you know what I am?

There was a time, not long ago When flowers grew all year When days were long And nights star-strewn And men lived free from fear

You were such a sweet child, when I first met you by this very tree,” remarked the Bear. “What happened?” His voice was mocking, but she could feel the tension in him when she began to undo the golden clasps. “What happened? Love, betrayal, and time,” said Vasya. “What happens to anyone who grows to understand you, Medved? Living happens.

Nay, it is the coming storm. The first sign is fear. The second is always fire. Your people are afraid, and now the fires burn.

She had survived the frost and the flame, had found a harbor, however brief. Perhaps that was all anyone could ask, in the world’s savage turning.

You cannot love and be immortal.

She did not want to see hope in his eyes. She wanted him to be a monster. But monsters were for children.

Why carve things of wood,” she asked him, “if you can make marvelous things of ice with only your hands?” He glanced up. “I carve things of wood because things made by effort are more real than things made by wishing.

What name would encompass a creature like her?

She is not afraid, Konstantin thought dourly. She does not fear God; she fears nothing. He saw it in her silences, her fey glance, the long hours she spent in the forest. In any case, no good Christian maid ever had eyes like that, or walked with such grace in the dark.

It is going to end, Vasya thought. One day. This world of wonders, where steam in a bathhouse can be a creature that speaks prophecy. One day, there will be only bells and processions. The chyerti will be fog and memory and stirrings in the summer barley.

She hated him. She dreamed about him. None of it mattered. Might as well hate the sky - or desire it - and she hated that worst of all.

There was a time, not long ago When flowers grew all year When days were long And nights star-strewn And men lived free from fear

You don't waste October sunshine. Soon the old autumn sun would bed down in cloud blankets and there would be weeks of gray rain before it finally decided to snow.

We were born together, we died together. I cannot live without you.

She is herself,” said Sasha. “Doom and blessing both, and it is for God to judge her.

I am a witch,” said Vasya. Blood was running down her hand now, spoiling her grip. “I have plucked snowdrops at Midwinter, died at my own choosing, and wept for a nightingale. Now I am beyond prophecy.” She caught his knife on the crosspiece of hers, hilt to hilt. “I have crossed three times nine realms to find you, my lord. And I find you at play, forgetful.” She felt him hesitate. Something deeper than memory ran through his eyes. It might have been fear. “Remember me,” said Vasya. “Once you bid me remember you.

Learn?” he said then. Was that bitterness in his voice? “How? I am as I was made: unchanging. Long ago, men dreamed a sword into my hand. Gods diminish, but they do not change. Now try again.

The mushroom-spirit was suddenly fierce. "He is not to kick over any of my mushrooms." "That depends," said the Bear pointedly. "If my brave mistress does not give me something better to do than run to and fro in the dark, I will happily kick over all your mushrooms.

Close your eyes," he said into her ear. "Come with me." She did so, and suddenly she saw what he saw. She was the wind, the clouds gathering in the smoky sky, the thick snow of deep winter. She was nothing. She was everything. The power gathered somewhere in the space between them, between her flickers of awareness. There is no magic. Things are. Or they are not. She was beyond wanting anything. She didn't care whether she lived or died. She could only feel; the gathering storm, the breath of the wind.

The more one knows, the sooner one grows old.

The living need you more than the dead. And they are harder to comfort.

Sasha looked at his sister. He had never thought of her as girlish, but the last trace of softness was gone. The quick brain, the strong limbs were there: fiercely, almost defiantly present, though concealed beneath her encumbering dress. She was more feminine than she had ever been, and less. Witch. The word drifted across his mind. We call such women so, because we have no other name.

Konstantin had never seen Vasya so. In the house, she was grave and wary, careless and charming by turn, all eyes and bones and soundless feet. But alone, under the sky, she was beautiful as a yearling filly, or a new-flown hawk

And yet, I will think of the future,” Vasya retorted. “To remind me that the present is not forever. One day I may see my brother Alyosha again, and my sister Irina. I might have a home of my own, a place and a purpose, a victory. What is the present without the future?

Perhaps I am not so wise as you would have me, for all my years in this world. I do not know what you should choose. Every time you take one path, you must live with the memory of the other: of a life left unchosen. Decide as seems best, one course or the other; each way will have its bitter with its sweet.

Men are also wicked," Vasya returned passionately. "And good, and everything in between. Chyerti are, just as men are, just as the earth herself is. Chyerti are sometimes wise and sometimes foolish, sometimes good and sometimes cruel. God rules the next world, but what of this one? Men may seek salvation in heaven and also make offerings to their hearth-spirits, to keep their house safe from evil. Did not God make chyerti, as He made everything else in heaven and earth?

But he shook her, lifted her chin so that she had to meet his eyes again, spoke into her ear, the voice of winter in this airless cellar, reminding her of her joys and her mistakes, her loves and her flaws, until she found herself back in her own skin, shaken but able to think. She realized how close she had come, in that dark treasure-room, with reality collapsing like a rotten tree, to going mad.

He picked up a twist of straw and began to rub her down. In the space of a blink, the twist of straw became a brush of boar’s hair. The mare stood with her ears flopping, loose-lipped with enjoyment. Vasya went nearer, fascinated. “Did you change the straw? Was that magic?” “As you see.” He went on with his grooming. “Can you tell me how you do it?” She came up beside him and peered eagerly at the brush in his hand. “You are too attached to things as they are,” said Morozko, combing the mare’s withers. He glanced down idly. “You must allow things to be what best suits your purpose. And then they will.” Vasya,

Unable to ride, he paced the winter earth, while clouds boiled up in the north and blew snow-flurries on them both. “She was supposed to go home,” he snarled to no one in particular. “She was supposed to tire of her folly, go home with her necklace, wear it, and tremble sometimes, at the memory of a frost-demon, in her impetuous youth. She was supposed to bear girl-children who might wear the necklace in turn. She was not supposed to—” Enchant you, finished the horse with some asperity, not raising her nose from the snow. Her tail lashed her flanks. Do not pretend otherwise. Or has she dragged you near enough to humanity that you have also become a hypocrite?