Ruin And Rising Quotes

Na razrusha'ya. I am not ruined. E'ya razrushost. I am ruination.

I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine.

Beauty was your armor. Fragile stuff, all show. But what's inside you? That's steel. It's brave and unbreakable. And it doesn't need fixing.

They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things—if love can ever be called that.

I hope you weren’t looking to me to be the voice of reason. I keep to a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.

In this moment he was just a boy -brilliant, blessed with too much power, burdened by eternity.

Aleksander," I whispered. A boy's name, given up. Almost forgotten.

I'm the Sun Summoner. It gets dark when I say it does.

Maybe love was superstition, a prayer we said to keep the truth of loneliness at bay.

Yuyeh sesh. Despise your heart. Ni weh sesh. I have no heart.

Aleksander." His eyes fluttered shut. "Don't let me be alone," he murmured. And then he was gone.

Thanks for the rescue." "Everyone needs a hobby." "I thought yours was preening." "Two hobbies.

Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising I came singing into the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking: Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!

He leaned against the window, and the gilded frame came into sharp focus. “Do you think it would be any different with your tracker beside you? With that Lantsov pup?” “Yes,” I said simply. “Because you would be the strong one?” “Because they’re better men than you.” “You might make me a better man.” “And you might make me a monster.

He watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. Like he’ll never have enough of her. Like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.

You live in a single moment. I live in a thousand.

You never know," said Nikolai. "I've been busy. I might have some surprises in store for the Darkling yet." "Please tell me you plan to dress up as a volcra and jump out of a cake." "Well, now you've ruined the surprise.

It’s true,” I said softly. “You are stronger, wiser, infinite in experience.” I leaned forward and whispered, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “But I am an apt pupil.

Hope was tricky like water. Somehow it always found a way in.

He’d wanted me to believe in his ruthlessness. Then I remembered his words from so long ago: Make me your villain.

You are all I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “You are the whole of my heart.

I am not ruined. I am ruination.

Suffering is cheap as clay and twice as common. What matters is what each man makes of it.

Maybe love was superstition, a prayer we said to keep the truth of loneliness at bay. I tilted my head back. The stars looked like they were close together, when really they were millions of miles apart. In the end, maybe love just meant longing for something impossibly bright and forever out of reach.

It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.

You'll still make a great king." "Of course I will," he scoffed. "I'm melancholy, not daft.

You were meant for more than me, and I'll die fighting to give it to you. But please don't ask me to pretend it's easy.

Will you say it? "Aleksander" His grin faded and his grey eyes seemed to flicker. "Again." "Aleksander

I saw the prince when I was in Os Alta,” said Ekaterina. “He’s not bad looking.” “Not bad looking?” said another voice. “He’s damnably handsome.” Luchenko scowled. “Since when—” “Brave in battle, smart as a whip.” Now the voice seemed to be coming from above us. Luchenko craned his neck, peering into the trees. “An excellent dancer,” said the voice. “Oh, and an even better shot.” “Who—” Luchenko never got to finish. A blast rang out, and a tiny black hole appeared between his eyes. I gasped. “Imposs—” “Don’t say it,” muttered Mal.

Everyone okay?" Mal asked. "Never better," said Genya shakily. David raised his hand. "I've been better.

How could he be so cruel and still so human?

I've been busy. I might have some surprises in store for the Darkling yet." "Please tell me you plan to dress up as a volcra and jump out of a cake." "Well, now you've ruined the surprise.

I’ve never understood this taste for otkazat’sya. Is it because you thought you were one of them for so long?” “I had a taste for you, once.” His head snapped up. He hadn’t expected that. Saints, it was satisfying.

We all die. Not everyone dies for a reason.

Why waste my anger on you when the fault is mine? I should have anticipated another betrayal from you, one more mad grasp at some kind of childish ideal. But I seem to be a victim of my own wishes where you are concerned.” His expression hardened. “What have you come here for, Alina?” I answered him honestly. “I wanted to see you.” I caught the briefest glimpse of surprise before his face shuttered again. “There are two thrones on that dais. You could see me any time you liked.

You want a love story too? There's none to be had.

I want you to know my name. The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it? "Yes" "Aleksander

I already unleashed Baghra on Nikolai. He's going to think I stockpile vicious old women.

A song she heard Of cold that gathers Like winter's tongue Among the shadows It rose like blackness In the sky That on volcano's Vomit rise A Stone of ruin From burn to chill Like black moonrise Her voice fell still...

A privateer learns to press any advantage.” “And a prince?” “Princes get used to the word yes.

Baghra," Nikolai said, "how are you this evening?" "Still old and blind," she snarled. "And charming," Nikolai drawled. "Never forget charming." "Whelp." "Hag." "What do you want, pest?

I am become a blade.

And the Darkling?" "I tried to kill him." "As one does.

Idiot.” “That fact is well established and adds nothing to the plot.

I don't want lies between us, Alina." "How many lies have you told me, Sturmhond? How many secrets have you kept until you were ready to share them?" "Prince's prerogative?" "If a mere prince gets a pass, so does a living saint." "Are you going to make a habit of winning arguments? It's very unbecoming." "Was this an argument?" "Obviously not. I don't lose arguments.

What are you two doing barefoot and half naked in the mud?" asked a familiar voice. "Looking for truffles, I hope?

And you," she spat in Nikolai's direction. "Go somewhere you're wanted." "That's hardly limiting," he said.

Alina, I'll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. Whatever seems most fitting at the time." "Are you still here?" snapped Baghra. "I go but hope to remain in your heart," he said solemnly. Then he winked and disappeared.

In the end, maybe love just meant longing for something impossibly bright and forever out of reach.

I seem to be a victim of my own wishes where you are concerned.

I would have been different too, without you. Weaker, reckless.” He smiled slightly. “Afraid of the dark.” He brushed the tears from my cheeks. I wasn’t sure when they’d started. “But no matter who or what I was, I would have been yours.

You're an expatriate. You've lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed with sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafes.

I wanted to believe anything so that I wouldn’t have to face the future alone. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.

They're all crazy, Oncat. Invisible armies, monster princes. Let's go set fire to something.

I love it when you quote me.

I shook my head in wonder. "How does he do it?" "Want to know my secret?" Nikolai asked from behind us. We both jumped. He leaned in, looked from left to right, and whispered loudly. "I have a lot of money." I rolled my eyes. "No, really," he protested. "A lot of money.

I'm used to being the center of attention wherever I go. I've been told I could charm the shoes off a racehorse midstride, and yet you seem impervious.

Wretched boy.” “You like him,” I said in disbelief. Baghra scowled. “Greedy. Arrogant. Takes too many risks.” “You almost sound concerned.” “You like him too, little Saint,” she said with a leer in her voice. “I do,” I admitted. “He’s been kind when he might have been cruel. It’s refreshing.” “He laughs too much.” “There are worse traits.

You might make me a better man.” “And you might make me a monster.

I will tell you a story, one I used to tell to a little boy with dark hair. A silent boy who rarely laughs, who listened more closely than I realized. A boy who had a name and not a title

They pushed and pushed for so long. They knew I was something dangerous, something different. Sooner or later, they had to know I would snap and come to cut them down. Or perhaps they think I'm still a child. The fools. Alexander was a child when he ruined his first nation.

Do good works or commission an opera house or just take it out and gaze at it longingly when you think of the handsome prince you might have made your own. For the record, I favor the latter option, preferably paired with copious tears and the recitation of bad poetry.

I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.

When evening fell the boy would bring the girl a glass of tea, a slice of lemon cake, an apple blossom floating in a blue cup. He would kiss her neck and whisper new names in her ear: beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart.

What have you come here for, Alina?” I answered him honestly. “I wanted to see you.” I caught the briefest glimpse of surprise before his face shuttered again. “There are two thrones on that dais. You could see me anytime you liked.

Zoya and I gaped at him. Then she scowled. "You know, if you turned a bit of that poetry on me, I might consider giving you a change." "Who says I want one?" "I want one!" called Harshaw. Zoya blew a damp curl from her forehead. "Oncat as a better chance than you." Harshaw held the little tabby above him. "Why, Oncat," he said. "You rogue.

There are rumors that your Lantsov prince has been sighted.” I drifted nearer, trying to keep my voice casual. “Where?” He glanced up, his lips curling in a slight smile. “Do you like him?” “Does it matter?” “It’s harder when you like them. You mourn them more.” “Tell me, Alina,” said the Darkling. “Has he claimed you yet?” “Claimed me? Like a peninsula?” “No blushes. No averted eyes. How you’ve changed. What about your faithful tracker? Will he sleep curled at the foot of your throne?

I was impressed, and also unnerved. Being around Nikolai was always like this, watching him shift and change, revealing secrets as he went. He reminded me of the wooden nesting dolls I'd played with as a child. Except instead of getting smaller, he just kept getting grander and more mysterious. Tomorrow, he'd probably tell me he'd built a pleasure palace on the moon. Tough to get to, but quite a view.

What do you want, Mal?" The room seemed very quiet. "Don't ask me that." "Why not?" "Because it can't be." "I want to hear it anyway." He blew out a long breath. "Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina." "No." "You need an army. You need a crown." "I do." He laughed then. "I know I'm supposed to say something noble--I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again." He gave a rueful shake of his head. "But I guess I'm the same selfish ass I've always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man's name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can't give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star? That, by the way, is a phrase of Julian's. I remember it from a lecture of his on the Iliad, when Patroklos appears to Achilles in a dream. There is a very moving passage where Achilles overjoyed at the sight of the apparition – tries to throw his arms around the ghost of his old friend, and it vanishes. The dead appear to us in dreams, said Julian, because that's the only way they can make us see them; what we see is only a projection, beamed from a great distance, light shining at us from a dead star… Which reminds me, by the way, of a dream I had a couple of weeks ago. I found myself in a strange deserted city – an old city, like London – underpopulated by war or disease. It was night; the streets were dark, bombed-out, abandoned. For a long time, I wandered aimlessly – past ruined parks, blasted statuary, vacant lots overgrown with weeds and collapsed apartment houses with rusted girders poking out of their sides like ribs. But here and there, interspersed among the desolate shells of the heavy old public buildings, I began to see new buildings, too, which were connected by futuristic walkways lit from beneath. Long, cool perspectives of modern architecture, rising phosphorescent and eerie from the rubble. I went inside one of these new buildings. It was like a laboratory, maybe, or a museum. My footsteps echoed on the tile floors.There was a cluster of men, all smoking pipes, gathered around an exhibit in a glass case that gleamed in the dim light and lit their faces ghoulishly from below. I drew nearer. In the case was a machine revolving slowly on a turntable, a machine with metal parts that slid in and out and collapsed in upon themselves to form new images. An Inca temple… click click click… the Pyramids… the Parthenon. History passing beneath my very eyes, changing every moment. 'I thought I'd find you here,' said a voice at my elbow. It was Henry. His gaze was steady and impassive in the dim light. Above his ear, beneath the wire stem of his spectacles, I could just make out the powder burn and the dark hole in his right temple. I was glad to see him, though not exactly surprised. 'You know,' I said to him, 'everybody is saying that you're dead.' He stared down at the machine. The Colosseum… click click click… the Pantheon. 'I'm not dead,' he said. 'I'm only having a bit of trouble with my passport.' 'What?' He cleared his throat. 'My movements are restricted,' he said. 'I no longer have the ability to travel as freely as I would like.' Hagia Sophia. St. Mark's, in Venice. 'What is this place?' I asked him. 'That information is classified, I'm afraid.' 1 looked around curiously. It seemed that I was the only visitor. 'Is it open to the public?' I said. 'Not generally, no.' I looked at him. There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to say; but somehow I knew there wasn't time and even if there was, that it was all, somehow, beside the point. 'Are you happy here?' I said at last. He considered this for a moment. 'Not particularly,' he said. 'But you're not very happy where you are, either.' St. Basil's, in Moscow. Chartres. Salisbury and Amiens. He glanced at his watch. 'I hope you'll excuse me,' he said, 'but I'm late for an appointment.' He turned from me and walked away. I watched his back receding down the long, gleaming hall.