Scythe Curie Quotes

Ours is a perfect world--but perfection does not linger in one place. It is a firefly, by its very nature elusive and unpredictable.

Marie couldn't help but smile. This girl whom she had not even wanted to take on in the first place had become her greatest supporter. Her truest friend.

And as I see it they are all innocent. Even the guilty. Everyone is guilty of something, and everyone still harbors a memory of childhood innocence, no matter how many layers of life wrap around it, Humanity is innocent; humanity is guilty, and both states are undeniably true.

Love remains mortal

Which is worse - to be despised, or to be ignored? — From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie

Scythe Curie seemed a mix of many emotions, but she folded them all away, like clothes that no longer fit, and closed the drawer. Citra expected she never spoke of this to anyone else, and would probably never speak of it again.

Scythe Curie seemed a mix of many emotions, but she folded them all away, like clothes that no longer fit, and closed the drawer.

One can never truly master the art of driving, because no journey is ever exactly the same,” Scythe Curie told her. “But once you’ve gained proficiency, it can be rewarding—freeing, even.

Where are you, my dear Marie?

The index is supposed to keep the world free from cultural and genetic bias, but aren’t there underlying factors that we can’t escape? For instance, who decided that the first number of one’s genetic index would be Caucasoid?—From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie

The world has a talent for rewarding bad behaviour with stardom

You’ll be fine, Citra. You’ll be back with Scythe Curie in no time—but you won’t forget what happened today. And I hope you never forgive me.

I can't believe that you're being taught by the Scythe Curie. The Grandma of Death!" "Grande Dame, not grandma.

This won’t do,” said Scythe Curie, and took Citra up into her arms, carrying her.

I can’t believe you’re being taught by the Scythe Curie.  The Grandma of Death!

Her eyes were on the brink of tears. If she blinked, they would fall— but Scythe Curie kept them pooled on her lower lashes, too proud to be seen weeping in conclave.

Citra wondered if all Chilargentine scythes wore robes that seemed not just handmade, but lovingly made. The woman spoke in Spanic and Scythe Curie responded in kind. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanic,

I do not wish to be the harbinger of doom," he said, mournfully, "but this is a secret ballot. I'm sure there'll be quite a few who support Scythe Curie to her face, but will vote for Goddard when no one is looking.

Scythe Curie seemed a mix of many emotions, but she folded them all away, like clothes that no longer fit, and closed the drawer. Citra suspected she never spoke of this to anyone else, and would probably never speak of it again.

He will pretend like it never happened,” Scythe Curie told her as the two of them drove home from the airport. “That’s the closest the man will ever come to an apology.” “But it did happen,” Citra said. “I had to hurl myself from a building to escape from it.” “And I had to blow up two perfectly good cars,” Scythe Curie said wryly.

Oh, go glean yourself," Curie said, only partially suppressing her grin. "Only if I can attend my own funeral, my dear.

Well," said Curie, with deadpan irony, "how proud your sponsoring scythe must be to have the first perfect pupil in history.

And I have faith that you will shine in your final test.

very painful comedy of errors

This Porsche was a gift from an antique car dealer,” Scythe Curie explained to her. “He wanted immunity?” Citra asked, assuming the man’s motive. “On the contrary. I had just gleaned his father, so he already had immunity.” “Wait,” said Citra. “You gleaned his father, and he gave you a car?” “Yes.” “So he hated his father?” “No, he loved his father very much.” “Am I missing something?

Good, you're awake. I trust you've healed enough over the past few hours to be a little more coherent, and little less miserable" "coherent, yes. Less miserable, no. Just a deferent kind of misery

Hello, Mrs. Yeltner,” Citra said, guilty to be enjoying the woman’s thinly veiled terror. “G . . . good to see you,” she said, clearly not remembering Citra’s name. “Wasn’t there just a gleaning on your floor earlier this year? I didn’t think it was allowed to hit the same building so soon.” “It’s allowed,” Citra said. “But we’re not here to glean today.” “Although,” added Scythe Curie, “anything’s possible.

Citra returned to Sythe Curie at Falling Water many weeks before Winter Conclave, when the Month of Lights had just begun, and gifts were being passed between friends and loved ones to celebrate ancient miracles that no one quite remembered.

The index is supposed to keep the world free from cultural and genetic bias, but aren’t there underlying factors that we can’t escape? For instance, who decided that the first number of one’s genetic index would be Caucasoid? —From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie

It reminds me that in spite of our lofty ideals and the many safeguards to protect the Scythedom from corruption and depravity, we must always be vigilant, because power comes infected with the only disease left to us: the virus called human nature. I fear for us all if scythes begin to love what they do. —From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie

I nominated Curie, because I thought it would impress Scythe Anastasia.” “And why would you want to impress her?” Goddard asked. Trick question, thought Morrison. And he decided it was better to be nailed by the truth than to be caught in a lie. “I had the feeling that she was going places – and so I figured if I impressed her—” “You might get pulled along in her wake?” “Yes, something like that.” Goddard nodded, accepting the explanation. “Well, she did go somewhere. Although to be more precise, I suspect she went multiple places before she was fully digested.

It’s not as if we can go somewhere else; the disasters on the moon and Mars colonies proved that. We have one very limited world, and although death has been defeated as completely as polio, people still must die. The ending of human life used to be in the hands of nature. But we stole it. Now we have a monopoly on death. We are its sole distributor. I understand why there are scythes, and how important and how necessary the work is… but I often wonder why I had to be chosen. And if there is some eternal world after this one, what fate awaits a taker of lives? —From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie