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The Two Princesses of Bamarre
by Gail Carson Levine

p.20 People wealthy enough to own marble put a slab of it outdoors in hopes of witnessing a birth. Father always did so, although we'd never been lucky.
     When a birth occurred, the lightning and marble begot a flame that grew and outfolded as might a quick-blooming rose. Within the flame would be a sorcerer--full grown, still growing, his nakedness covered by a shimmering cocoon.
     He would look about him for a moment. Then he would look inward and learn what he was. In a burst of joy he would rocket into the sky, into the storm, showering sparks. The speed of flight would burn off the cocoon, but a sparkle of the flame that gave him life would burn on his chest, sustaining him until death.

p.20-21 Life Span: Sorcerers need only air to live. They may eat or drink for pleasure, but they need not. They are incapable of sleep. Although they never take ill, they may die in many other ways as humans can, by accident or by design or in a war. If they do not meet without disaster, however, then at the end of five hundred years the spark is extinguished, and they die.
     During their first two hundred years they are apprentices, and they live out in the world. At the end of that time, they are journey men and retreat to their citadel, which they rarely leave again.
Appearance: Their most distinguishing feature is their white eyelashes. All sorcerers, male or female, young or old, have dark, wavy hair. The species runs to tallness: The average height of a female is five feet and ten inches; the average height of a male is six feet and two inches. All have long, tapering fingers and long, graceful necks. The faces are individual, with as much variety of feature as is seen in humankind. Immature sorcerers have the opened, unlined faces of youth.
Disposition and relations with humans: Sorcerers are neither universally good or universally bad. They have been heroes and villains, but most sorcerers, like most humans, are a blend of good and bad qualities.
     Although most are indifferent to humans, some of the young go through a phase of intense interest that always terminates at the end of their apprenticeship. A few marriages between sorcerers and humans have occurred, and children have been born of such unions.

p.?? molly herb: pain reliever, just eat the flower

93 Step follows step.
     Hope follows courage.
     Set your face toward danger.
     Set your heart on victory.
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Meredith Gentry Series #5: Mistral's Kiss
by Laurell K. Hamilton

p.5 A woman stood behind me, so close that when the wind blew through the dead trees her hooded cloak brushed against the hem of my gown. I formed my lips to say, Who? but never finished the word. She held out a hand that was wrinkled and colored with age, but it was a small, slender hand, still lovely, still full of quiet strength. Not full of the remnants of youthful strength, but full of the strength that comes only with age. A strength born of knowledge accumulated, wisdom pondered over many a winter's night. Here was someone who held the knowledge of a lifetime--no, several lifetimes.
     The crone, the hag, has been vilified as ugly and weak. But that is not what the true crone aspect of the Goddess is, and it was not what I saw. She smiled at me, and that smile held all the warmth you would ever need. It was a smile that held a thousand fireside chats, a hundred dozen questions asked and answered, endless lifetimes of knowledge collected and remembered. There was nothing she would not know, if only I could think of the questions to ask.

p.32 "None of us has told the younger ones, Queen Andais," Doyle said. "Everyone knows that out followers painted themselves with symbols and went into battle with only those symbols to shield them."
     "The eventually learned to wear armor," Andais said. Her arm had lowered enough for Mistral to be comfortable on his knees again.
     "Yes, and only the last few fanatical tribes kept trying to seek our favor and blessing. They died for that devotion," Doyle said.
     "What are you talking about?" I asked.
     "Once we, the sidhe, their gods, were painted with symbols that were signs of blessing from the Goddess and the God. But as our power faded, so did the marks upon our bodies." Doyle said it all in his thick-as-molasses voice."
     "It is faint and incomplete," the queen said from the far wall.
     "Yes." Rhys nodded and looked at her. "But it is a beginning."

p.47 Mistral raised his mouth from mine and half whispered, half groaned, "Fuck her, fuck her, fucker, please," and the last word was drawn out into a long sigh that ended in something close to a scream.
     Abeloec pushed himself inside me, and only then did he begin to throb with power. It was almost like some huge vibrator, except this vibrator was warm and alive, and had a mind and a body behind it.

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Meredith Gentry Series #4: A Stroke of Midnight
by Laurell K. Hamilton

p.16 "Are the two of you having sex with the princess at the same time?"
     "No." Frost fought not to frown. We were lucky the reporter hadn't asked if they slept together with me. Because we did. The fey sleep in big puppy piles. It's not always about sex; sometimes it's about safety and comfort.

p.18 The cameras and attention turned to Nicca like lions spotting a newly wounded gazelle.

p.28-29 I'd also learned that all bodies are an it, not he, not she--it. Because if you think of the dead body as a h e or a she, they begin to be real for you. They begin to be people, and they aren't people, not anymore. They're dead, and outside of very special circumstances they are just inert matter. You can have sympathy for the victim later, but at the crime scene, especially in the first moments, you serve the victim better by not sympathizing. Sympathy steals your ability to think. Empathy will cripple you. Detachment and logic, those are your salvation at a fresh murder. Anything else leads to hysterics, and I was not only the most experienced detective in the hallway, I was also Princess Meredith NicEssus, weilder of the hands of flesh and blood, Besaba's Bane. Besaba was my mother, and my conception had forced her to wed my father and live, for a time, at the Unseelie Court. I was a princess and I might one day be queen. Future queens do not have hysterics Future queens who are also trained detectives aren't allowed hysterics.

p.39 Ameraudur meant a war leader who was chosen for love, not bloodline. Ameraudur meant that the man who called you this would give his own life before he saw yours fail. It was the word that the Welsh had used for Arthur, yes, that Arthur.

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Meredith Gentry series #3: Seduced by Moonlight
by Laurell K. Hamilton

p.99 "Most things are logical when they're explained."

p.148 I felt the bed move a moment before I felt Nicca's presence behind me. He wasn't a burning heat now, but it was if he was t he warmth of the earth itself. The warmth that lives down in the rich brown soil, and keeps all the seeds, and all the creatures safe and warm through the winter. When his hands touched my shoulders, it was like being wrapped up in the warmest, softest blanket in the world. So safe, so warm, as if you snuggle down and sleep for months, and wake refreshed, whole, and the earth would be made new again. The magic of spring itself was in the touch of his hands.

p.176 I hugged him. When I pulled away, he was smiling. "For that look in your eyes, I would slay armies. What is a little emotion, to that?"
     Anyone who thought that slaying armies was easier than fixing your own internal emotional mess hadn't had enough therapy.
     But I didn't say that out loud, either.

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Meredith Gentry series #2: A Caress of Twilight
by Laurell K. Hamilton

p.30 I started to laugh. I laughed so hard, I had to sit down on the floor. I held the bloody knife and watched the two guards gaze down at me, worried looks on their faces. Rhys wasn't glowering anymore. Kitto touched my arm, gently, as if afraid of what I'd do. I wrapped my arms around him, hugged him to me, and the tears streaming down my face stopped behind laughter, and I simply cried. I held Kitto and the bloody knife and cried.

p.33 He crossed his arms over his chest, flashing the gold of his Rolex, and looked at me. Among the fey it was impolite to ask why a person was having hysterics. Hell, sometimes it was even considered impolite to notice they were having hysterics at all. usually that was for ruling royalty, though. Everyone had to pretend that the king or queen wasn't bug nuts. Mustn't admit that centuries of inbreeding had done any damage.

p.81 "She tasted like sunshine. And until this second I didn't know that sunshine tasted like anything."

p.104 "...All the bright shining throng knew. My own cousin was kept because she was part brownie. You didn't throw her out, because brownies are Seelie--not court, but creatures of light. But when the sidhe themselves breed monsters, the pure, shining, Seelie sidhe, breed deformities, monstrosities, then what happens, where do they go?"
     She was crying now, soft, silver tears. "I don't know."
     "Yes, you do. The babies go to the Unseelie Court. We take in the monsters, those pure Seelie monsters. We take them in, because we welcome everyone. No one, no one is turned away from the Unseelie Court, especially not tiny, newborn babies whose only crime was to be born to parents who can't study a genealogical chart well enough to avoid marrying their own fucking siblings." I was crying, too, but it was anger, not sorrow.

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Meredith Gentry Series #1: A Kiss of Shadows
by Laurell K. Hamilton

p.6 I stared at him, and finally understood. "You know we should walk away from this one, but you can't bring yourself to pass judgment on them. You can't bring yourself to condemn them to death."
     He nodded. "Yes."
     "What makes you think that I can do it, if you can't?"
     "I'm hoping one of us is sane enough not to be this stupid."
     "I won't get you all killed for the sake of strangers, Jeremy, so be prepared to walk away from this one." Even to me, my voice sounded thin, hard, cold.
     He smiled again. "That's my little cold-hearted bitch."

p.9-10 Some days I was better at it than this. Some days I was worse. I could have tried to get the measure of her psychically, to see if she had more than bone structure going for her, but it was impolite to read another person's magical ability at first introduction. Among the sidhe it's considered an open challenge, an insult that you don't believe that the other person can shield himself from your most casual magic. Naomi probably wouldn't have taken it as an insult, but her ignorance was no reason for me to be rude.

p.20 "If you're powerful enough, you can put a spell on an ad so that the ad brings you what you truly desire, not necessarily what the ad says you want. It's why I ran the ad that Ms. Gentry answered. Only people with magical ability would have noticed the spell on the ad, and only people with exceptional gifts would have been able to see through to the true writing underneath. The true writing listed a different phone number than the ad. I know that anyone who called that number was capable of the job."

p.26 For a building to be warded, not just an apartment, but a whole building, meant that the protective spells had to be put into the foundation of a building. The wards had to be poured with the concrete, riveted into place with steel beams. It took a coven of witches, or several covens. No single practitioner could do it. It was not a cheap process. Only the most expensive high-rises or homes could boast of it.

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Dinotopia: Windchaser
by Scott Ciencin

"If someone has a gift in one hand, they got a dagger in the other." --Hugh

"Words of gratitude fail me. Better to make you proud with my deeds." --Laegriffon
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Rebel Angels
by Libba Bray

p.374-375 "You trained dog to English?" He points at me with the dagger. He makes a barking sound that tumbles into more laughter and then a terrible coughing fit that leaves blood on his hand.
     "The English." He spits. "They give us this life. We are their dogs, you and I. Dogs. What they promise you cannot trust. But Chin-Chin's opium makes the whole world sweet. Smoke, my friend, and you forget what they do. Forget that you are a dog. That you will always be a dog."

     He points the tip of his dagger into the sticky black ball of opium, ready to smoke his troubles away and float into an oblivion where he is no one's inferior. Kartik and I move on through the smoky haze. The Chinaman leads us to a tiny room and bids us wait a moment while he disappears behind the rags over the door. Kartik's jaw remains clenched.
     "What that man said..." I stop, unsure of how to continue. "What I mean is, I hope you know that I do not feel that way."
     Kartik's face hardens. "I am not like those men. I am Rakshana. A higher caste."
     "But you are also Indian. They are your countrymen, are they not?"
     Kartik shakes his head. "Fate determines your caste. You must accept it and live according to the rules."
     "You can't really believe that!"
     "I do believe it. That man's misfortune is that he cannot accept his caste, his fate."
     "I know that the Indians wear their caste as a mark upon their foreheads for all to see. I know that in England, we have our own unacknowledged caste system. A laborer will never hold a seat in Parliament. Neither will a woman. I don't think I've ever questioned such things until this moment.

p.443 "No use crying over spilled blood."
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A Great and Terrible Beauty
by Libba Bray

p.10 God save me from a woman's tears, for I've no strength against them.

p.11 I could ask them for directions back to the marketplace, though my Hindi isn't nearly as good as Father's and for all I know Where is the marketplace may come out as I covet your neighbor's fine cow.

p.42 She attempts one of those confessional smiles, the sort usually seen in reverent portraits of Florence Nightingale. In my experience, such smiles mean that the real message--the one hidden by manners and good posture--will need to be translated.
      "I think you shall be very happy here, Miss Doyle."
     Translation: That is an order.
     "Spence has turned out many wonderful young women who've gone on to make very good marriages.
     We don't expect much more from you. Please don't embarras us.
     "Why, you may even be sitting here in my position someday."
     If you turn out to be completely unmarriageable, and you don't end up in an Austrian convent making lace nightgowns.

p.52-53 We scurry across the threshold of the quiet, cavernous chapel and take our seats, our footsteps echoing off the marble floors. Arched wood-beamed ceilings soar a good fifteen feet above us. Candelabras line the sides of the church, casting long shadows over the wooden pews. Stained-glass windows line the walls, colorful advertisements for God, pastoral scenes of angels doing a ngelic sorts of things--visiting villagers, telling them good news, cradling babies. There is the odd panel with a severed gorgon's head, an angel in armor standing next to it, brandishing a sword dripping blood. Can't say that I've heard that particular Bible story--or want to, really. It's a bit gruesome so I turn my attention to the altar where a vicar stands, tall and thin as a scarecrow.

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Circle of Three #15: Initiation

by Isobel Bird

p.61 "brillig"

p.101 Asatru -- the Norse religion

p.189 east = air ; north = earth ; south = fire ; west = water

Having summoned the four elements of the directions, it was time to complete the circle. This fell to Cooper, who picked up a stick and pressed the end into the sand.
   "In the sand I draw the circle," she said as she walked around the fire, inscribing a circle with the stick. "In the circle magic dwells. All who enter are protected, here to weave our magic spells."

p.193 We all come from the Goddess
And to her we shall return
Like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean."

NAMES: Siobhan, Decklin, Cerridwen
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Circle of Three Series #14: The Challenge Box
by Isobel Bird

p.37-38 While she would never admit it, and in fact would probably deny if asked, she loved reading Harry Potter. The way magic was portrayed in the stories was how she'd always thought of magic when she was little. Now she knew better, but it was fun to read about it in a world where people could make things happen just by waving a wand.

p.105 While she waited for her crawfish, she listened to the man playing the guitar. He hadn't stopped playing yet, and seemed content to keep right on playing the same beautiful music that had drawn Cooper in the first place. The song made her think of seemingly unrelated things: a slow-flowing river, fireflies blinking in the darkness, T.J., standing in a ritual circle holding hands with people on either side of her, listening to the sound of rain on her bedroom roof. It was almost dreamlike, but there was a harshness to it as wel, a sadness, as if the song was supposed to remind the listeners that life was hard but wonderful.

p.117 Sherrie trying to understand something about someone else was like a terrorist claiming he always checked to make sure there were no kittens inside a building before blowing it up.

p.144-145 He even looks the same, Kate thought, taking in his silver hair and bright blue eyes. Father Mahoney looked exactly the way a priest should look. He was wearing the traditional black suit with white collar, which just added to the overall impression he always gave of having been in the church his whole life. It's like the grew him at the priest farm and just picked him this morning, Kate thought.
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Circle of Three #13: And it Harm None
by Isobel Bird

p.5-6 They had learned that one of the principles of magic was that you should always remember to thank the universe for helping you achieve your intentions.

p.9 "Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again. The circle is open but unbroken."
p.93 It was a sugar cookie, delicately iced with pretty pink frosting, and written across it in red icing were the words BITE ME.

p.110 "He's just a guy," Becka replied. "Guys are easy to talk to. You just have to think of them as big, stupid dogs who want you to like them. Then it's easy."

p.115 "I was just thinking about how sometimes everything seems like a total accident, said Annie. "But then other times it's like I can see these patterns happening, making sense of everything. Only usually when I start thinking that maybe there is a pattern or a plan or whatever something happens to totally blow my theory apart."
   "My dad says writing books is sort of like that," Becka told her. "Sometimes he'll start off with this really great idea, and he'll plan every single step of the book. Then he starts writing and the characters decide to do something else that has nothing to do with his plan."

p.174 "We are the weavers," she sang as she walked, thinking of the words to a chant they had sung in class once, "we are the web. We are the spiders, we are the thread."


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