The strokes of the pen need deliberation as much as the sword needs swiftness.
Do you think we can be friends?” I asked. He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend.
Vane grabbed me. “DuLac, let’s chat.” Chat. British-speak for “Stand still while I yell at you.
But remember, boy, that a kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword.
If the road is easy, you're likely going the wrong way.
What do we do when the foolishness of the cross actually makes more sense than the wisdom of the sword?
Vane’s lips tightened to suppress a smile. “Why so hostile, love?” “You whacked me on the head with a ball!” “You deserved it.
I caught his hand. “What do you want me to do?” Leaning down, he kissed the pulse beating on my neck just above the damaged skin. “Tomorrow, I need you to die.
He’d used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.
I noticed him right away. No, it wasn’t his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn’t the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.
Rough palms cradled my face while my fingers gripped the pillow on either side of his. Lips, teeth, tongue, mingled together. I ate him up and didn’t let go until I had to come up for air.
Matt was almost completely naked. A tattered loincloth and an ugly chain with a yellow diamond were his only apparel.
When he said to give him the sword, I don’t think he meant for you to stick it in his guts.
IT'S A SWORD, said the Hogfather. THEY'RE NOT /MEANT/ TO BE SAFE.
I play with swords on the clock dial and kayak along breeze. Being on time is an adventure . If you are late you have lost the game already!
I've climbed up here holding the hilt of time's sword by driving it into my tender heart.
The monster inside him was finally silent. The sword in his hand spoke a thousand stories, while hundreds of voices screamed feebly through the blood dripping from it. The blade of the sword shined like an evening sky and sang a tale of the darkest revenge.
It is not surprising that most Pakistanis do not support America's bombardment of Afghanistan. The Afghans are neighbours on the brink of starvation and devastated by war. America has shown itself to be untrustworthy, a superpower that uses its values as a scabbard for its sword.
There are only two forces in the world, the sword and the spirit. In the long run the sword will always be conquered by the spirit.
My room is like an antique shop, full of junk, and weird stuff. There's a big sword in there. And a taxidermy bird, and a couple of birdcages. And a lot of newspaper cuttings. I used to have a weird thing about cutting out morbid headlines from newspapers, and collecting them. I was fascinated with drowning, which is kind of strange.