Necromancy Quotes

You were just worried about me." An exhale, relieved that I had understood. "Yeah" I turned. "Because you think I'm worth it" He put his fingers under my chin. "I absolutely think your worth it." "But you don't think you are." His mouth opened. Shut. "That's what this is about, Derek. You won't let us worry about you because you don't think you're worth it. But I do. I absolutely do.

God, I hate rogue necromancers," said Magnus. "Why can't they just follow the rules?" "Probably because the biggest rule is 'no necromancy'?" Emma suggested

Too many words,” said Gideon confidentially. “How about these: One flesh, one end, bitch.

If anyone stops us, as long as we mumble something pretentious about the glory of death, we should be fine.

If you do this, Nedra, if you choose necromancy… I cannot follow you into that darkness.” “Oh, Grey,” I said, shifting my bag onto my shoulder. “What do you know of darkness?

And she didn’t want great secrets of necromancy, or any other sort of magic. She just wanted—had always wanted—a good book to read. Being chased by hellhounds and blowing things up were comparatively unimportant parts of the job.

For the first time in her life Granny wondered whether there might be something important in all these books people were setting store by these days, although she was opposed to books on strict moral grounds, since she had heard that many of them were written by dead people and therefore it stood to reason reading them would be as bad as necromancy. Among the many things in the infinitely varied universe with which Granny did not hold was talking to dead people, who by all accounts had enough troubles of their own.

Hi, my name is Ashley, and I’ll be your Harbinger today. I will be acting as an interim instructor for all your necromancy needs.” She flashed her best stewardess smile and gave a little Vanna wave. “Ashley, as delighted as I am to meet you, don’t you think it might be hard to teach me? I’m in a cage that you can’t get into. Oh, and—” I grabbed the bars with both hands, “I’m a little distracted right now by the fact that I’m being held by a psychotic killer.” Ashley cocked a single eyebrow, a look of mild amusement on her face. “Geez,” she said, looking at Brid. “Is he always this big of a drama queen?

I love you, too,” she said. Nathaniel's brow furrowed. He turned his face to the side and blinked several times. “Thank god,” he said finally. “I don't think unrequited love would have suited me. I might have started writing poetry.” Elisabeth continued stroking his hair. “That doesn't sound so bad.” “I assure you, it would have proven more unpleasant for everyone than necromancy.

The so-called science of poll-taking is not a science at all but mere necromancy. People are unpredictable by nature, and although you can take a nation's pulse, you can't be sure that the nation hasn't just run up a flight of stairs, and although you can take a nation's blood pressure, you can't be sure that if you came back in twenty minutes you'd get the same reading. This is a damn fine thing.

In the myriadic year of Our Lord--the ten thousandth year of the King Undying, the kindly Prince of Death!--Gideon Nav packed her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and she escaped from the House of the Ninth.

Make no apologies for surviving.

For the first time in her life Granny wondered whether there might be something important in all these books people were setting such store by these days, although she was opposed to books on strict moral grounds, since she had heard that many of them were written by dead people and therefore it stood to reason reading them would be as bad as necromancy.

Free, free, free... necromancer, I love you.

This never happens again," I said quietly. "You try to get to me through other mortals again and I'll kill you." Mavra's rotted lips turned up at one corner. "No, you won't," she said in her dusty voice. "You don't have that kind of power." "I can get it," I said. "But you won't," she responded, mockery in her tone. "It wouldn't be right." I stared at her for a full ten seconds before I said, in a very quiet voice, "I've got a fallen angel tripping all over herself to give me more power. Queen Mab has asked me to take the mantle of Winter Knight twice now. I've read Kemmler's book. I know how the Darkhallow works. And I know how to turn necromancy against the Black Court." Mavra's filmed eyes flashed with anger. I continued to speak quietly, never raising my voice. "So once again, let me be perfectly clear. If anything happens to Murphy and I even think you had a hand in it, fuck right and wrong. If you touch her, I'm declaring war on you. Personally. I'm picking up every weapon I can get. And I'm using them to kill you. Horribly.

The nails from a suicide's coffin, and the skull of the parricide, were of course no trouble; for Vesquit never traveled without these household requisites.

Biracial.” I correct with an edge. “Puppies are mixed.

I don't know what's so scary about zombies. Reanimating the dead isn't that hard, but they make TERRIBLE minions. They can't move quickly and they fall to pieces in a matter of days.

They’re dead words—a human chain reaching back ten thousand years,” said the corpse. “How did they feel?” “Genuinely sad, bordering on very funny,” said God.

Hades has many powers, but his primary and most powerful abilities are necromancy, including reincarnation, resurrection, transmigration, death sense, and soul removal.

she was opposed to books on strict moral grounds, since she had heard that many of them were written by dead people and therefore it stood to reason reading them would be as bad as necromancy.

How can you tell when someone loves the real you and not the idea of you?” “They see you at your lowest,” he said softly, pitching his voice so Cruz had no hope of overhearing, “and they don’t blink. They don’t offer you a hand up, they offer you a hand to hold while you rise on your own.

The thing about love is, when you’re raised with an excess, the overflow splashes onto those around you.

Love isn’t a straight path,” he advised. “You don’t know how twisted it will get until you try walking it.

I start to wish that my weed was laced with something that will kill me, but I know it’s not.  It’s the pure stuff I buy from my manager at work, so I try to be the first guy to die from straight marijuana.

All good friendships changed the people within them to a better version of themselves.

We all deserve someone who takes care of us, even when we don’t need it.

All good partnerships ought to require both people to take turns being the damsel, like a team-building exercise.

... the first few minutes of a person's death are the most vitally important minutes of opportunity for a necromancer, [so] Cabal added, "Look, I have to go. Without the necessary chemicals, we'll lose whatever wits are still floating around his cooling brain. The only more immediate alternative that I can think of is a Tantric ritual involving necrophiliac sodomy and, frankly, I don't think my back is up to it. So, if you will excuse me?

Don’t be a corpse, Clay prayed under his breath. Please, don’t be a corpse. Moog had been a staunch enemy of necromancy his entire life, but when you left lonely old wizards in ancient towers for too long, it stood to reason they’d start meddling with dark and unfathomable powers sooner or later.

There's a kind of magic that must be learned with toil and difficulty, line by line, spell by spell, the magic of the Book of Necromancy - and then there's another kind that springs from the depths of the heart, from caring for someone and loving him. It's hard to understand, I know, but you had better trust that magic, Krabat.

Wounded animals heal best in their dens. You owe no one an apology for doing whatever it takes to survive.

Today isn't the day when we start to use one another's bodies. Or tomorrow, or ever. We're not barbarians.

I love you," she said, stomach growling. "You love bacon." "I have a big heart," she protested. "There's room enough for both of you in it.

you learned appreciation when people proved your worth by spending time with you instead of money on you.

Their love wasn’t simple. Practice gave it an effortless appearance, but that was far from the truth. It was a kind word in the morning, a thoughtful meal prepared without request, a kiss before parting ways, a kiss when coming back together. A million tiny kindnesses sprinkled throughout the days, the months, the years.

Judge Knight: Here's a word of advice. Our Sun Knight has the nerve to PLOT THE DOWNFALL OF A KING. DO NOT get on his bad side if you don't have a status higher than that. Storm Knight: In addition he has mastered the Resurrection Spell, which even the Pope has a hard time with. And he's an expert of divine magic, sorcery, and necromancy. Then he's got a teacher who's known as 'the strongest Sun Knight in history' as his supporter, not to mention his other teacher who's no doubt a necromancer... Oh, and while we're at it he's probably also buddies with a Death Lord. Everyone's Thoughts: His extraordinarily bad swordsmanship really is a stroke of good fortune. Earth Knight: Dammit! Is he the Sun Knight or the devil himself?! Leaf Knight: Have you forgotten what our teachers taught us all throughout our childhood, Earth? Teacher: 'Child, when you accidentlly discover the imperfections of the Sun Knight, unless you want to have a first hand experience of his imperfections, you'd better dutifully admit he is perfect. Remember, no matter what the Sun Knight is always perfect!

And behind it all I saw the ineffable malignity of primordial necromancy, black and amorphous, and fumbling greedily after me in the darkness to choke out the spirit that had dared to mock it by emulation.

Prognoses which have been made contend that our technology will terminate in pure necromancy. If so, everything we now experience would be only a departure and mechanics would become refined to a degree that would no longer require any crude embodiment. Lights, words, yes even thoughts would be sufficient. (1957)

Some people experience a life-changing sensation that transforms how they see the world after a near-death experience, but the way I see it, we’re all dying – nay, we’re all dead – and it is up to us to be our own self-necromancers to find some form of life and spirit to reanimate the corpse of a life spent wanting.

Being a good person is hard. Doing the right thing is hard. That’s why only masochists keep a clean nose.

Maybe that apparent ease was what made their unions burn so bright from the outside looking in. Maybe that kind of love wasn’t simple. Maybe it was a goal you strove toward every single day for the rest of your lives. A peak you never reached, but that was okay as long as you kept climbing.

Taking deep breaths, I gathered my power until I could feel it crackling in my fingertips. "Let him go!" I commanded in what I hoped was my most "I am a powerful demon" voice. Probably would've been better if my voice hadn't cracked on the last word. I released the magic in my hands, which felt kind of like snapping a giant rubber band. A bolt of power flew from my fingertips, crashing into a nearby tree with a thunderous crack. There was a bright flash like lightning, and a branch fell to the ground. The ghouls startled, which meant the one holding Archer jerked his head back even farther. The smallest one made a noise that might have been distress, but they certainly didn't seem under my control. And they weren't letting Archer go. Okay, so my first experiment with necromancy was an epic fail.Take two. I fought panic and frustration. Shooting off my magic at the ghouls was no good, but what else was I supposed to try? "Think,Sophie," I muttered under my breath. "Yeah,please do that," Archer replied, his voice slightly strangled. The ghoul holding him had wrapped a hand around Archer's throat. The thing's expression wasn't threatening, just curious, like he was little kid trying to see what would happen if he just kept squeezing. I slammed my eyes shut. Okay, they were dead. Yucky dead things. That smelled like-okay, those thoughts were not helpful.

The physicists called it an adjustment of quantum emphasis. But the effect was to change the role of the observer. Of you and me. For the will of the observer to matter. So man could control his environment directly through the force of his desire, rather than through machinery.” I had the feeling that if I died he would carry on saying his piece to my corpse. “Unfortunately that wheel wasn’t just turned—it was set turning. It hasn’t stopped. In fact, like so many things in nature, the process has a tipping point and we’re reaching it. The fractures in the world, in the walls between mind and matter, between energy and will, between life and death, they’re all growing. And everything is in danger of falling through the cracks. Each time these powers, the ability to influence energy or mass or existence, are used, the divergence grows. These are the magics you know as being fire-sworn, or rock-sworn, or as necromancy and the like. The more they are used, the easier they become, and the wider the world is broken open. And this Dead King of yours is just another symptom. Another example of a singular force of will being used to change the world and, in doing so, accelerating the turn of that wheel we released.

I finished 11th grade with a perfect 5.0 GPA, so valedictorian is a sure thing if

I’m sorry Brooke.  I didn’t know that when I thought I was eating a fried chicken sandwich, I was really eating bigotry and oppression.

I want Sani to flip the fuck out, and get murdered by all the werewolves and fairies and vampires in the room.

We all kept secrets. Some out of kindness, some in anger, and others to protect ourselves.

But Boaz was blessed with a silver tongue, and he had slipped it down way too many throats for me to believe mine was anything special.

The texts are unanimous on one point: the dead do not like being summoned back.

I don’t know what I want for breakfast most mornings, let alone who I want to share it with.

Depression was an old coat I sometimes wore. It fit too tight in the shoulders and pinched as I moved, but taking it off required herculean effort,

Panties I don't mind going without, but I have no bra." "You're like me." She smoothed her hands over her small breasts. "We have knots on a wooden plank.

Real is an abstract concept. Are we ever ourselves, our whole selves, except when we’re alone?

I have in my possession a piece of paper that says you're mine

Novice-ranked Witches were offered a few different choices: healing, enchanting, divination, wardcraft, charms, potions, summoning, and to my shock, necromancy.

Giles de Rays, maréchal of France, who was said to have killed and tortured to death in a few years no less than one hundred and sixty women and children for the purposes of necromancy,

Asking why the creature had chosen to give me its bone was pointless. My foolish and unwilling foray into necromancy had made me attractive to such things, as a magnetic is attractive to iron.

Well, well, well. Tickle my Elmo ass silly. I was sitting across from a person who enjoyed talking to dead people, and if they wouldn’t talk, then by God, he’d just wake their corpses up instead. Next to him was a moody, chain-smoking vampire who just might be bipolar and smoked like a corncob pipe.

On my way through the living room, I stopped to check on Keet, who hung upside down from his swing like a bat from a cave ceiling. I reached through the bars and scratched his cheek. "Stay weird, my friend.

I can’t stand to see a living thing in pain, least of all Evander. The nuns who raised me said I’d been that way since birth. Trying to put the wings back on a trampled butterfly. Tending the weakest plants in their garden. That’s what made me so well suited for walking in the Deadlands, they said. My love of life.

This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown.

At this point, a few words on this term 'horror' are perhaps called for. Some amateurs of this kind of literature engage in endless hairsplitting disputes, centered around this word and its close companion 'terror', as to which' stories may so be categorized and which may not, and whether or not descriptions such as weird or fantasy or macabre are preferable. The designation 'horror', with its connotations of revulsion, satisfies me no more than it does the purists but I believe that it is the only term which embraces all the stories in this collection and which succinctly suggests to the majority of readers what is in store for them. Horror then, in this instance, covers tales of the Supernatural and of physical terror, of ghosts and necromancy and of inhuman violence and all the dark corners and crevices of human belief and behavior that lie in between. ("An Age In Horror" - introduction)

You must believe me that trying to bring back the dead is not worth the trouble. In any sense. And it’s not right, either—the dead don’t like to be disturbed. It’s like trying to wake someone from a wonderful dream and bring them back to an unpleasant, imperfect reality. For most of them, at any rate, but the flip side presents another score of problems.

Picture it.” Her tour guide voice came back in full force. “The playground. Kindergarten. Me and you. Sitting on the swings at recess, eating apple slices instead of sour candy straws, because even then Mom didn’t want me to live my best life.

Many skeptics, it is true, are inclined to dismiss the whole procedure [chart reading] as akin to astrology or necromancy; but the sheer weight of its importance in Wall Street requires that its pretensions be examined with some degree of care.

Zerg: Hey bro! I just bought something of yours at the auction by mistake... ​I blacklisted Zerg. You reap what you sow, err, sell what you buy. Or maybe he’d start leveling up Necromancy and wear them himself. Easy money didn’t exist, end of story.

Before I could tell him so, he guided my finger into his mouth and swirled his tongue across the hurt. "Better?" I managed a whimper. "Grier?" he caught me around the waist as my knees liquified. "What's wrong?" "Her ovaries exploded," Lethe called from the living room

His shoulders sagged a fraction. “No one ever wants to make a blood pact. We could invoke ancient spirits to hold us to our vow instead. I have some necromancy books at home. But I have to hide them behind my calculus homework; otherwise, my mother finds them and throws them out.

Chemistry is important.” He tapped my nose with the end of his brush. “It’s not as important as mutual respect, financial solvency or humor, but it’s up there. It’s been my experience the better you know a person, the more connected you feel to them, and the more attractive they become to you.

You were just worried about me" An exhale, relieved that i had understood. "Yeah" I turned. "Because you think i'm worth it" --- The Reckoning by Kelly Armstron He put his fingers under my chin. "I absolutely think your worth it" But you don't think you are" His mouth opened. Shut. That's what this is about, Derek. You won't let us worry about you because you don't think you're worth it. But i do. I absolutely do" Chloe and Derek

We never see the people who are dear to us save in the animated system, the perpetual motion of our incessant love for them, which, before allowing the images that their faces present to reach us, seizes them in its vortex and flings them back upon the idea that we have always had of them, makes them adhere to it, coincide with it. How, since into the forehead and the cheeks of my grandmother I had been accustomed to read all the most delicate, the most permanent qualities of her mind, how, since every habitual glance is an act of necromancy, each face that we love a mirror of the past, how could I have failed to overlook what had become dulled and changed in her, seeing that in the most trivial spectacles of our daily life, our eyes, charged with thought, neglect, as would a classical tragedy, every image that does not contribute to the action of the play and retain only those that may help to make its purpose intelligible.

Necromancy?” The mantis shook his head. “I have laid a ghost or two, and I questioned one once.” He swirled the wine in his cup and peered into it, seeing more in the flickers of firelight reflected there than I would have, I think. At last he said, “Our ghosts are becoming worse, have you noticed? It used to be they were no more than lost souls who had wandered away from the Lands of the Dead, or perhaps never reached them, spirits no worse dead than they had been alive, and frequently better. Such were the ghosts of which my masters told me when I was younger; such, indeed, were those I myself encountered as a young man. Now something evil is moving among them.

Do they know I’m black?”  I ask. “I thought you were biracial.” To most white people, black and biracial are the same thing.

The fact that he’s a great person makes me feel even shittier.

No broad is going to rip out my throat; I don’t care what she looks like.

I smoke up all my shit and gulp down a few beers, and listen to soft, love songs by Drake, and even though I usually like Drake, I’m like ‘Drake man, these ho’s ain’t loyal.

I might Chris Brown her ass,

but I can’t tell her that it doesn’t matter that she’s poor, because it does matter to me, but I can rectify the problem.  Everything else about her is perfect.

He had embraced all the broken parts of me, and I was just as willing to love all his jagged pieces.

Lies don’t resonate. Only the truth cuts as well as a blade.

You can’t drown your sorrows in chocolate” was his sage advice. “Literally no one believes you” was my less sage response.

Now, I’m not saying I was eavesdropping on her phone calls. I’m just saying her voice carries, especially when I press my ear against her bedroom door.

After all, he was a firm believer that volume increased understanding.

My feeble attempts at ignoring Boaz were about as successful as the time I tried resuscitating a T-rex skeleton at a natural history museum when I was eight.

You’re the best pirate I know,” he said, black eyes shining up at me in adoration.

Most things are possible,” Linus allowed. “A thing is only impossible until you’ve done it.

I require pie before I desecrate a mass grave.

Should they inquire of the Dead on account of the Living?

I saw you dro0wn." IO faced Linus. "Does this mean you're an aquatic zombie? An undead merman? A zerman perhaps?

We were both too shiny and idealistic, too full of dreams and possibilities. It had taken life kicking us in the teeth a few times for us to shed those childish fancies and embrace the darkest corners of ourselves.

The sequel [to The Silmarillion and The Hobbit], The Lord of the Rings, much the largest, and I hope also in proportion the best, of the entire cycle, concludes the whole business – an attempt is made to include in it, and wind up, all the elements and motives of what has preceded: elves, dwarves, the Kings of Men, heroic ‘Homeric’ horsemen, orcs and demons, the terrors of the Ring-servants and Necromancy, and the vast horror of the Dark Throne, even in style it is to include the colloquialism and vulgarity of Hobbits, poetry and the highest style of prose. We are to see the overthrow of the last incarnation of Evil, the unmaking of the Ring, the final departure of the Elves, and the return in majesty of the true King, to take over the Dominion of Men, inheriting all that can be transmitted of Elfdom in his high marriage with Arwen daughter of Elrond, as well as the lineal royalty of Númenor. But as the earliest Tales are seen through Elvish eyes, as it were, this last great Tale, coming down from myth and legend to the earth, is seen mainly though the eyes of Hobbits: it thus becomes in fact anthropocentric. But through Hobbits, not Men so-called, because the last Tale is to exemplify most clearly a recurrent theme: the place in ‘world politics’ of the unforeseen and unforeseeable acts of will, and deeds of virtue of the apparently small, ungreat, forgotten in the places of the Wise and Great (good as well as evil). A moral of the whole (after the primary symbolism of the Ring, as the will to mere power, seeking to make itself objective by physical force and mechanism, and so also inevitably by lies) is the obvious one that without the high and noble the simple and vulgar is utterly mean; and without the simple and ordinary the noble and heroic is meaningless.

It’s not like I asked him to stay at home and knit beer cozies. I asked him to sleep eight extra hours while holes in his body filled in. I feel skin is an important part of that whole keeping organs inside our bodies where they belong thing.

Sometimes,” she found herself saying, quite meditatively for her, “I don’t like it when you do—the necromancy word—” (“You just said it,” said Palamedes) “—but it feels nice at the same time. It’s mixed up. It’s like when you do that, it makes me sad—not sad that you did it, but sad that you can do it. Did I say something wrong?” Nona added in a rush, seeing Palamedes’s face. “No,” he said gently, after a moment. “I don’t understand yet, that’s all. Not even a little. I have so much to learn in the ways of not understanding.

Three causes especially have excited the discontent of mankind; and, by impelling us to seek for remedies for the irremediable, have bewildered us in a maze of madness and error. These are death, toil, and ignorance of the future—the doom of man upon this sphere, and for which he shews his antipathy by his love of life, his longing for abundance, and his craving curiosity to pierce the secrets of the days to come. The first has led many to imagine that they might find means to avoid death, or, failing in this, that they might, nevertheless, so prolong existence as to reckon it by centuries instead of units. From this sprang the search, so long continued and still pursued, for the elixir vitæ, or water of life, which has led thousands to pretend to it and millions to believe in it. From the second sprang the absurd search for the philosopher's stone, which was to create plenty by changing all metals into gold; and from the third, the false sciences of astrology, divination, and their divisions of necromancy, chiromancy, augury, with all their train of signs, portents, and omens.

We know the faces of the ancient Greeks from classical paintings, we have seen Assyrians on the pediment of the palace at Susa. And so, when we actually meet Orientals belonging to a particular group, we feel that we are in the presence of creatures spirited before our eyes by necromancy. Our image of them so far has been a superficial one; now it has acquired depth, it has become three-dimensional, it moves. The young Greek banker’s daughter who is such a society favorite at present, seems like one of those dancers in a ballet, at once historical and aesthetic, who symbolize Hellenic art in flesh and blood; yet the theater setting makes these images seem banal;

A direct descendant of the Nights is The Saragossa Manuscript, written by the Polish Jan Potocki between 1797 and 1815. Potocki was a Knight of Malta, a linguist and an occultist—his tales, set in Spain in 1739, are dizzily interlinked at many levels—ghouls, politics, rationalism, ghosts, necromancy, tale within tale within tale. He spent time searching vainly for a manuscript of the Nights in Morocco, and shot himself with a silver bullet made from a teapot lid in Poland. Out of such works came nineteenth-century Gothick fantasy, and the intricate, paranoid nightmare plottings of such story webs as The Crying of Lot 49 or Lawrence Norfolk’s Lemprière’s Dictionary.

He looked around dubiously, as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wake up yet, and then slowly opened the other, focusing on Elisabeth’s face. “Hello, you menace.” She laughed, weak with relief. As she stroked his hair back from his sticky forehead, an unbearable tenderness filled her. “I love you, too,” she said. Nathaniel’s brow furrowed. He turned his face to the side and blinked several times. “Thank god,” he said finally. “I don’t think unrequited love would have suited me. I might have started writing poetry.” Elisabeth continued stroking his hair. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” “I assure you, it would have proven more unpleasant for everyone than necromancy.” She laughed again, helplessly.

When Merikh crouched down and carefully pulled the rug back, Loralee instinctively retreated a few steps. Green fog began to emanate from Merikh’s fingertips. It thickened as it touched the ground. After a moment, the fog completed a circle around the stain. Strange glyphs that resembled the ones from the raven scroll ran along the outside rim of the circle. “It would seem a history lesson is in order,” Merikh said...The room went cold. Not the sort of cold that happened when Merikh grew irritable. The sort of cold that cut to Loralee’s bones and made them feel brittle. Her joints ached when she brought her hands to her bare arms. Even when she rubbed her skin, she couldn’t make them warm. It was only after that realization that Loralee came to another one: the room was dark, as if the sun were setting.

Gipetto decided he wanted the company of a young mundy maiden in his village. But he'd been lying to her about many thyings to hide the fact that he wan an arcana, and she'd begun to distrust him. So he made her a simple puppet out of wood that could talk, and if made to tell a lie, it's bulbous nose would grow long. He took the puppet to her, demonstrated its use, and had her ask the puppet if Gipetto loved her and if he would care for her always. These were not lies, not that a wooden puppet could tell, and Gipetto was wealth from selling his inventions, so they were married with her family's eager encouragement. But on those nights when Gipetto was away traveling and selling his wares, the neighbors swear they would hear the young woman telling the puppet to lie, and then tell the truth, over and over and over again. Because, you see, sometimes a girl wants the truth and sometimes she doesn't, as long as it makes her feel good." Mother laughed and patted my head, or at least she made the motions. "Someday, you'll understand, Finn.