Passenger Alexandra Bracken Quotes

It's our choices that matter in the end. Not wishes, not words, not promises.

You cannot fathom the distance I would travel for you.

In the whole course of history, war had always fallen on the shoulders of the young.

Good ideas had in the dark were generally best left there.

It matters not who you love, but only the quality of such a love. A flower is no less beautiful because it does not bloom in the expected form. Because it lasts an hour, and not days.

The only way out is through.

There are rules, but rules may be rewritten if only one hand holds the ink.

She didn't need a protector or a rescuer. But she did need him.

He would not surrender to the disaster of loving her.

I've never slapped anyone before,” she admitted. “How did you find the experience?” “It would have been more satisfying if he'd gone flying out of his seat like I imagined.

What a privilege it was to never feel like you had to take stock of your surroundings, or gauge everyone’s reactions to the color of your skin.

I love you.” For whatever small comfort it was worth, he would have the truth between them now. “Most desperately. Bloody inconvenient, that.

How do you fight against a mountain? How do you move it when you don't even have a shovel?” “Maybe you don't have to move it,” Etta said, folding the gown over the lid of the trunk. “Maybe you have to climb it.

We are, all of us, on our own journeys.

So you'd keep me here against my will—” “Know this pirate,” he said, his hands gripping the railing, “You are my passenger, and I will be damned before I let any harm come to you.

This was the danger, the seduction of time travel, she realized—it was the opportunity, the freedom of a thousand possibilities of where to live and how to start over. It was the beauty open to you in your life if you only stopped for a moment to look.

You do have a choice, you know,” Etta told her after a moment. “There is always a choice.

But she wondered if, in moving outside of the natural flow of time, they had forgotten the most crucial point of life—that it wasn’t meant to be lived for the past, or even the future, but for each present moment.

Society is always the same, regardless of the era. There are rules and standards, with seemingly no purpose. It's a hateful, elaborate charade, equal parts flirtation and perceived naïveté. To men we have the minds of children.

Love was selfish, wasn't it? It made honest men want things they had no right to. It cocooned one from the rest of the world, erased time itself, knocked away reason. It made you live in defiance of the inevitable. It made you want another's mind, body; it made you feel as if you deserved to own their heart, and carve out a place in it.

The things which are denied to us in life will never create a cage for our souls.

Half-truths only added up to a whole lie.

Free the fire fluttering inside her rib cage. Work her muscles, the bow, the violin, until she played herself to ash and embers and left the rest of the world behind to smolder.

What good is honour when greed eats away at its foundations?

Nicholas felt a rueful smile spread across his face. And a curse be on him for it, because now he knew her. She'd shown him her mind, and she'd opened up her heart, and now he knew the taste of her tears. And he was wrecked.

A snake could shed its skin, but never change its color.

Because one moment in life does not define a person," Li Min said. "Without mistakes and misjudgments we would stagnate. It is no shameful thing to be beaten when outnumbered, not when you were brave enough to try. Nor is a scar or injury something to despair over, for it is a mark that you were strong enough to survive.

Mind the hour, mind the date, and find that path which does not run straight.

I want the whole of you, and would never give you less of me.

Oh my God you are despicable!” Etta snarled. “Careful, madam, blasphemy is still a sin—” Even if Nicholas had been the gambling sort, he never would have wagered a single coin on her next words being “Then I guess I'll see you in hell!

Name the horizon, and it’s ours.” By the time the auditorium doors opened, they were gone

I'm not... I'm not without a heart,' he heard Sophia say, her chin raised, eyes straight ahead. 'I'm not. I just don't have the luxury of being soft. I am trying to survive.

How about a kiss, hey?” Etta liked that she was still able to startle him, just a little. The blank look of concentration broke as he barked out a laugh. “I don't know if that's a wise idea. We'd never leave.

All I hear are Satan's hammers and the war drums of hell, thank you.

I don't need a protector,” Etta said. “I need a partner.

Having actually read the Voltaire in question, I can confirm the quote is, as different from ours as the breed of spaniels is from that of greyhounds,” Nicholas said coldly. “Interesting, though, that in the end we're all just dogs.

Rest assured,” he said, when he managed to find his voice, “there will always be a position for you on my ship.” Her face brightened with her clever, beautiful smile. “Will you let me climb up into the rigging? Reef the sails?” A burst of thunder rolled through him. “Absolutely not.” She laughed again. “As if you could stop me.

He said he'd never remarry, because he'd never find another lady that fit so neatly at his side. He called her his equal in spirit.

One day they will name a plague for you,” he said. “Hopefully a particularly nasty one,” she answered. “A girl can dream.

I wish you'd go a a little easier on him,” she said. “He came in here thrashing a sword around. Was I supposed to stand idly by and do nothing?” he huffed. “Well, you weren't supposed to try and rearrange his face with your fist.” “I wasn't,” Nicholas protested. “He lunged up into it several times. I was only in the way.” “You're ridiculous.

It shouldn't surprise me that men continue to think of grand new ways to kill one another, and with greater precision.

Half the men worship at her feet; the other half have already proposed marriage, including young Jack, who has sworn to his dear 'miss' that he'll be true if she'll only wait a few more years for him.

Baha'ar,” he began, his voice soft; grave. “Do not die so far from the sea.

She imagined she could taste the storm in him, the battering winds of desperation and frustration that met her own, blow for blow.

Well,” Etta said weakly, “she's always told me a good challenge builds character.” “Then we'll have an excess of it,” he said dryly.

All cities are jealous of Paris, but Prague is the envy of Paris.

The worth is in the fight, not the conquest. Do not give up.

It's not weakness to require help, or a protector.

It was amazing how small you could feel when someone wouldn't so much as look at you.

Etta?” Nicholas's face floated in front of hers. “I'm okay,” she promised. “Just...” Hasan's face transformed, sharpening. “Who are you to be so familiar with my little niece? Remove your hands before I do.” “Familiar?” she repeated, just as Nicholas's grip tightened and he said, “Her husband.

Dressed as a man, her horse unencumbered by anything but the bare necessities, she had the look of a survivor, a fighter, and he respected the hell our of her for it, especially when she slid the pistol out of one of the saddlebags and aimed it at him.

Stop trying to make me feel better,” Sophia ordered. “It won’t work. I’m determined to be angry and guilty about this for at least another two days, and then again when I’m punching your corpse.

She was protected. She cared so deep for him that he seemed to live like a second heart inside her. She wanted him, and he wanted her. To hell with forever. This moment was theirs, and she'd steal it if she had to.

Should you try to leave on your own, know that I will go to the ends of the earth to bring you back.

For the longest time, I saw them as the end of my journey, but now I think they were always meant to represent the beginning of yours.

Nicholas wondered briefly if it was his destiny to be surrounded by women possessing varying degrees of murderous intent.

There was something else that Hall used to say–that life itself was uncertainty, and the only remedy to its madness was to act boldly.

Hey, this ship hasn't sunk yet,” she said, tearing her gaze away from the museum. “We may have one sail, but we're still going.

It is no shameful thing to be beaten when outnumbered, not when you were brave enough to try.

I understand. There is the journey you make through the world—the one that aches and sings. We come together with others to make our way and survive its trials,” she said. “But we are, all of us, also wayfarers on a greater journey, this one without end, each of us searching for the answers to the unspoken questions of our hearts. Take comfort, as I have, in knowing that, while we must travel it alone, this journey rewards goodness, and will prove that the things which are denied to us in life will never create a cage for our souls.” Nicholas

Where's Philips?” he demanded. “Or this ship's surgeon?” “Philips went below to tend the men there. Their surgeon is no longer in possession of the lower half of his body. I believe he is presently indisposed with the business of dying.

We were made for each other.

You are my passenger, and I will be damned before I let any harm come to you.

I never would have stopped looking for you. I would have gone to the very edges of time to save you from this.

—the longer you silence a violin, the harder it is for it to find its true voice again.

Abbi described to me what it was to travel, to see the fabric of life spread out before him. He said it was 'possibility.' It is said that there is time enough for every purpose, and so you must continue to believe that there is a time for you.

That she’d looked at him as though he was the last treasure to be had in the world?

A flower is no less beautiful because it does not bloom in the expected form. Because it lasts an hour, not days.

Never. Never again would he allow any other man to define him, set his course.

It wasn't a weakness to have those thoughts, to feel that need to help another, to save lives. It made one human.

That's beautiful,” she said. He turned to her. “Would you like me to go take that violin for you? I'd gladly fight whatever angry mob rises up if it might make you smile.” Her heart just about burst at that. Be brave. “I would only want to play for you.

Can you not see it? Can you not feel how badly I want you? I'm a selfish bastard, I'm worse then you'll ever know, but I'll answer to God or anyone else who tries to stand in our way so long as I know you're safe.

The anger that had flooded her veins was so pure, she thought it must have turned her blood to acid. You could read a hundred books about the attitudes and beliefs of the past, but the impact of witnessing this casual, ignorant cruelty firsthand was like having a bucket of ice upended over your head. It forced Etta to see that the centuries padding this time and hers, along with simple privilege, had protected her from the true ugliness of it. People believed this trash, and they were spreading it around like it was nothing. Like they weren’t even talking about humans.

Who could be satisfied with seeking out the four corners of one small world, when there was the whole of time to be had?

How unfortunate that sailing was one of the few occupations where a man could be praised for failing, so long as he did it bravely.

The notes of the symphony of lives, desires, and revenge suddenly swelled into a chorus of generations, blasting through Etta's mind.

Say something. Please, say anything, just don't hide your thoughts from me.

Why would I ever search out someone who abandoned me? Someone who had no regard for any of us, who ran because he’s too much of a damn coward to stand up to his family!

There are times, Miss Spencer, you defeat me utterly.

He made her feel brave; he let her be who she was unconditionally, without judgement, and because of it, she felt life shifting around her into something that felt much more beautiful and clear.

The melody of her heart had no name; it was quick, and light. It rolled with the waves, falling as the breath left his chest, rising as he inhaled. It was the rain sliding down the glass; the fog spreading its fingers over the water. The creaking of a ship's great body. The secrets whispered by the wind, and the unseen life that moved below. It was the flame of one last candle.

I know why you did. That's what I want for you...to have the things you deserve. I want you to have that, and not feel guilty about how you got it. You told me the truth. You don't have to give me poetry to ease the blow.

I couldn't bear the thought of even your face here, left alone, for only the jungle to admire.” He shook his head. “Never. I'd never allow it. The only thing is to hire an artist to turn you into a figurehead for a ship, so some part of you will always be venturing out where you belong.

I understand. There is the journey you make through the world—the one that aches and stings. We come together with others to make our way and survive its trials," she said. "But we are, all of us, also wayfarers on a greater journey, this one without end, each of us searching for the answers to the unspoken questions of our hearts. Take comfort, as I have, in knowing that, while we must travel it alone, this journey rewards goodness, and will prove that the things which are denied to us in life will never create a cage for our souls.

I wanted to find something that would make Mom proud of me. Something I could excel at.' she told him. 'But some part of me thought that if I was out there performing, if everyone knew my name, I might reach my father or his family. They might recognize me. They'd hear my music and want to come find me. Know me.' 'I heard you, Etta,' he said softly. 'I heard you.

Tell me . . . just one thing . . . about your time?' he managed to get out. 'Of course,' Etta said. 'Do you remember . . . that couple in London, in the station?' 'The ones who were dancing?' she asked. 'What about them?' 'Would we . . . be able to dance . . . that way?' he said, finding it harder to catch his breath. 'In your time?' Etta pressed her lips together, clearly fighting to offer him a smile. 'Yes.' 'Though so.

Together they had painted a rather vivid image in her mind of a man with a bloody sword, guided by a shrivelled lump of ash and ice for a heart, in possession of actual fangs and claws.

He was staring down another loss, and, though he had to be logical, though he knew her to be logical, he saw the stricken look of betrayal on her face, and all of those arguments threatened to fly away from him. What was history anyway but the lies of the winning few? Why was it worth protecting, when it forgot the starving child under siege, the slave woman on her deathbed, the man lost at sea? It was an imperfect record written by a biased hand, diluted to garner the most agreement from competing parties. He was tempted to see her point, to imagine that she could realign the past and present and future into something beautiful. God, if anyone was capable of it, it would be her.

You are going to be incredibly embarrassed when you survive this, and I come back to make you answer for all of that poetry,” she said. “I swear, you eighteenth-century men are so dramatic.

No tears, no secrets. I want the life I'm meant to have, Etta. It's as simple as that. My father always says that the way to truly live is to do so without expectation or fear hanging over you, affecting your choices. I want to know you the way you know me one day. I want to play my violin, make my mistakes, fall in love, live in as many different cities as I can. Would you really take that from me?

She set her shoulders back, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “You call that a kiss?” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “We haven't the time for a proper one, pirate. Now tell me, where precisely are we?

Do you believe in that world you spoke of, the one made for us?' She swallowed, nodding. Her soft lips were against his bare skin, and he was a man, damn it all, and he was burning for her. The words that escaped him were choked with emotion. 'If we aren't to have it in this life, then in the next. If not now, then we'll have forever.

Nicholas eased back from her, wondering if this was what death would feel like - the painful release. He had envisioned it so many times as wading out into dark, cool water, letting it rise past his hips, his shoulders, his head. This was a breaking, a thunderclap of agony. How short a person's life was, but how very many times they were asked to die inside.

When his hands were dry and chapped, he recalled the softness of her skin. When the world shivered at the approaching winter, he recalled the warmth of being beside her. When he felt the sneering judgment of the eyes around him, he recalled the invincibility she'd instilled in him with her belief.

Like any girl, she still felt the echoes from earlier eras of repression. She'd been raised by a mother who'd fought hard to get a wage she deserved, to have access to education when she lacked every advantage, to travel on her own terms. The idea she was being asked-that she was expected to simply play along-made the blood throb in her veins. She was already in the damn stays. Wasn't the enough?

It was the quality of her feelings that shattered him—the pure belief and care that she had for him. He'd underestimated her, and he was more the fool for it, for denying this regard...this love for him. There was no other word to describe it. It truly was the same for her. The thought flooded him, filled his veins with equal parts relief and agony.

His skin smelled sweet, like milk and honey, and he’d shaved and trimmed his hair. Etta ran a hand over it. “You’re looking especially clean this morning,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, “so I brought water up for a bath, and then more for you. The water should still be warm.” Pure joy exploded in her. “I could kiss you for that!” “By all means,” he said coyly. “Don’t hold yourself back on my account.

The first words that floated to her lips were a lie; she hated herself for it, for wanting to give in to the easy simplicity of a fake story, rather than peel off the bandage and bleed every messy feeling and thought about the violin all over again. But she liked this honesty between them — it felt like something real and solid, strong enough to tie herself to, when there were so many lies and secrets trying to pull her in every direction at once.

Please have a seat, Henrietta. Winifred, thank you; that will be all. Ensure we’re not disturbed.” The older woman bobbed a slight curtsey, giving Etta’s back a parting pinch, hard enough to make her jump forward a step. Etta waited until the woman had vanished through the door in a swirl of dark skirts before turning to Henry and spitting out, “She doesn’t travel through passages, does she? She sacrifices a puppy and flies through the centuries on her broom.” He gave a sharp cough into his hand. “I assure you, your great-aunt is quite loving,” Henry said, only to stop and reconsider. “That is, she’s quite loving in her own way…every other Sunday. In May. Won’t you sit?” Great-aunt. No way in hell.

WINIFRED—WHO, IT SEEMED, HAD BEEN LISTENING AT THE DOOR—handed her a pair of shoes as soon as Etta emerged from the office. By the time Henry appeared at her side, a light coat over his suit jacket, the woman had faded back down the shadows of the hallway like the ghoul she was. “No coat?” he asked, eyeing her up and down. “Darling Winifred didn’t think I needed one, apparently,” she said. One of the guards chuckled into his fist, earning him a swat across the chest from the other. Henry looked mildly startled. “Your mother called her that as well.” “My mother met that woman and they both survived it?” One corner of his mouth twitched, and the parts of her that were still raw, and awkward—and, worse—unsure, eased. “I never said they emerged unscathed.