Favorite Lines

Jonah climbed up the pile of trash and bodies. He grabbed the high edge of the RoadBlock and pulled up. The pushing fight between the gangs rose back around him. Bullets zinged. Explosions grunted. Hand-to-hand combat gasped. Flames snapped. Death-cries of boys and girls accented it all. Jonah couldnā€™t smell, but he knew what he should smell: hot rubber, dirty water freed by heat, singed hair, and the cooked end of man.

I have recently finished doing a quick read through The Cost of Two Hands. Now, I’m reading The Sparrow and The Star. My goal is to finish it before the end of the year. I love the Sparrow and the Star, even with all the work it needs. It may be my favorite book written, thus far. Jonah has come into his own, there is so much darkness laced with so much hope. I love it.

I also love this paragraph. It’s dark and hard, but it is a paragraph I would grab my pen and highlight if this was a book off a shelf, and not one I had written. I just love this paragraph.

Favorite Lines

Another one of my favorite lines from The Cost of Two Hands:

Oak closed his eyes. Pain’s words reverberated through him. Keep Fighting. Keep Fighting. Did deep roots and life-giving water depend on other Guardians and other men? No. It was the King who kept the waters moving. It was the King who brought the unborn to this world. It was the King who gave Oak his powers and his responsibility. That hadn’t changed just because Oak was chained in the Mall. He had still been chosen to be the Forest Guardian. He had been chosen to hold Bree even if for a moment, and he had been chosen to be here. Just because here had tortures unbearable didn’t mean here was the end. And if it was the end? Joy! For he would take the last road through the final Door to the World Beyond. There was nothing Pain could do to change any of that.

Favorite Lines

I’m reading through The Cost of Two Hands in preparation for starting Book 3 of the Artists Return, Heir of Greenhome.

These are some of my favorite lines:

“Yes. I gave my heart to a woman. She loved eight men and when the last one was safe or dead, or both, she left.”

 “Sounds like a bit of a floozy if you ask me,” Presto muttered, getting another pointed glare from Gus.

“No. No. Not grown men. There was only one grown man. The rest were growing men, her growing men. Her boys.”

Gus gulped. “She had seven sons. You gave your heart to the mother of seven sons?”

“No. I gave my heart to a woman with a strong face and a heart for trees. I gave it to Bree.”