Mysteries Of Thorn Manor Quotes

Not every story has a happy ending,” she offered. “But most do, if you’re brave enough to keep reading to the end.

She would battle villains, demons, monsters to keep him safe. If she could, she would even battle his memories.

This was one of the things she loved best about books... she could briefly clasp hands with them across eternity, a chance meeting of souls made possible by their shared love of a story.

She liked nothing better than being surrounded by books.

Not every story has a happy ending. But most do, if you’re brave enough to keep reading to the end” “How can you be so certain?” “I’ve read a lot of them.

I don’t want a suitor,” she replied, emotion coursing through her. “I just want you, Nathaniel, not life-endangering acts of heroism, or—or priceless treasures, or even starlight in a jar. I haven’t changed my mind. I still love you. I think it’s possible I might love you even more than I did three months ago.

There’s no need to thank me, Scrivener,” Nathaniel said from the floor. He was still peering into cracks in the baseboard, creeping along on his hands and knees. “I’ll get down on all fours for you whenever you like.

In that moment she thought fiercely that she would protect him from anything; she would battle villains, demons, monsters, to keep him safe. If she could, she would even battle his memories.

But as he came forward to draw her into the center of the ballroom to dance, every worry fled her mind, for at that moment she was where she most wanted to be in all the world, in the arms of someone who loved her.

If anything goes wrong, I have a sword.” He took her in, his eyes sparkling. “That’s my girl.

Mercy squared her shoulders. “Silas had a talk with me this morning about how he isn’t going to murder me and bury me in the back garden. He gave me his world as a gentleman.” “That’s oddly specific, “ Nathaniel remarked. “Elisabeth, remind me to never dig up the petunias.

When she opened it, she discovered a handwritten dedication on the patterned endpapers: To my beloved—may you always believe in fairy tales. Smiling, she traced her fingers over the letters, feeling the indentations they had left on the paper. This was one of the things she loved best about books. She might never know who had written the dedication, or how long ago, or to whom, but she could briefly clasp hands with them across eternity, a chance meeting of souls made possible by their shared love of a story.

Not every story has a happy ending, but most do if you are brave enough to keep reading to the end.

As he helped her prepare, the sky darkened beyond the cracked-open window. The distant urban melody of wheels rattling over cobblestone, urchins hawking the evening paper, and church bells sonorously pealing the hour mingled with the muted conversations of guests passing in the hall outside.

Silas,” she said impulsively, “is there any way you can help us with the wards? Even just a little.” He paused, then said, “Certainly, mistress,” bowed again, and left the kitchen. Nathaniel muttered something that sounded like “favoritism.

No wonder the escaped grimoires were squabbling with each other. The older ones would disagree with the changes written down in the younger ones; the younger ones would chafe against antiquated opinions of their elders. The drawers weren’t just meant to organize them, but to keep them separated from each other. Sorted chronologically, they would be filed with other grimoires they liked, or at least wouldn’t try to rip apart.

Not many. Male heirs nearly always inherit the family demon, which is ridiculous, I know. Given my mother’s skill at tricking Maximilian into eating his vegetables, I suspect she would have been far better at managing a demon than most men on the council.

Era la mirada de una santa vengadora, radiante en su empeño. Quien la viera, diría que su expresión prometía salvación o castigo. Quizá, para algunos, ambas cosas.

It is impossible to know how many years a human will live, or in what manner they will die. Life is like the oil within a lamp. It can be measured, but the pace at which it burns depends upon how the dial is turned day by day, how bright and fierce the flame. And there is no predicting whether the lamp might be knocked to the ground and shatter, when it could have blazed on a great while longer. Such is the unpredictability of life. It is good you do not have many questions; I do not have any answers. A portion of the fuel, the life force that once belonged to you and Master Thorn—I hold it now within myself. That is all I can tell you. The rest remains uncertain.

There is no such thing as a good demon, mistress. Merely those who have manners, and those who do not.

There is no such thing as a good demon, mistress. Merely those who have manners, and those who do not.

No todas las historias tienen un final feliz. Pero sí la mayoría, si eres lo bastante valiente para seguir leyendo hasta el final.

She wished she could kiss him. She hated that she couldn’t kiss him. The longing was an ache in her throat, a clenched yearning in her stomach, a desire that was somehow as sweet as it was painful. In that moment she thought fiercely that she would protect him from anything; she would battle villains, demons, monsters, to keep him safe. If she could, she would even battle his memories.