Libby Rhodes Quotes

The Libby Rhodes that Tristan knew was a collection of imperfections, a constellation of absentminded marks. Of things she tried to meticulously to hide, but never from him.

He’d meant what he said, that he believed Libby Rhodes to be present in every theoretical universe of his existence; to be a person of great significance in every single one. It was too familiar, too traceable. Too many places their lives would have collided, a web of unavoidable consequences where coincidence dressed up like fate. Within it, Nico truly believed all their other outcomes ricocheted, but eventually returned. Other lives, other existences, it didn’t matter. They were polarities, and wherever they went, his half would always find hers.

They’d had a knack for it from the start, a way of becoming the other’s beginning and end.

So perhaps forgiveness was better not asked.

Men, conceptually, are canceled

I've got you, Rhodes. From here on, I swear.

Much as he hated to admit it, Nico hated himself most when he made her feel small.

But of course he was only being dramatic. He was not going to die. “You insufferable man-child. You idiot prince.” Her fondest derivative for him, or at least her most frequent. So much so it felt like something he might have accidentally colonized and put to use. “You are not going to do something so utterly unforgivable as to waste your talent and die, I won’t have it,” Libby informed him, jerking his shoulders upright. He would have mumbled I know that Rhodes shut up had he not been busy focusing on the task of not dying, and more specifically, on aiming what was currently oozing out of him, which was probably something he needed to survive. “You deplorable little Philistine,” Libby said. “What on earth were you thinking? No, don’t answer that,” she grumbled, shoving him none-too-gently so that his back rested against something hard, like the leg of a Victorian chair. “Just tell me what you’re doing so I can help you—even though I ought to defenestrate you from that window instead,” she muttered in an afterthought, ostensibly to herself.

Libby had known that about Ezra, the way he tended to want to save her from her anxieties instead of simply listening when she spoke. He wanted her to want to be rescued, and she had thought the occasional decision to indulge him was just something people did in relationships. Male ego or whatever. Things good girlfriends did in order to keep the peace.

She feels nothing.” Tristan’s brow furrowed. “A bit harsh, isn’t it?” Libby Rhodes was an anxious impending meltdown whose decisions were based entirely on what she had allowed the world to shape her into. She was more powerful than all of them except for Nico, and of course she was. Because that was her curse: regardless of how much power she possessed, she lacked the dauntlessness to misuse it. She was too small-minded, too unhungry for that. Too trapped within the cage of her own fears, her desires to be liked. The day she woke up and realized she could make her own world would be a dangerous one, but it was so unlikely it hardly kept Callum up at night. “It is for her own safety that she feels nothing,” Callum said. “It is something she does to survive.

He wanted her to want to be rescued, and she had thought the occasional decision to indulge him was just something people did in relationships. Male ego or whatever. Things good girlfriends did in order to keep the peace.