欧宝娱乐

“But what is a dream, Conor O'Malley? the monster said, bending down so it's face was close to Conor's. Who is to say that it is not everything else that is the dream?”
― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

“Las historias son criaturas salvajes 鈥攄ijo el monstruo鈥�. Cuando las sueltas, 驴qui茅n sabe los desastres que pueden causar?”
― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

“No pens茅is que no hab茅is vivido lo bastante como para no tener una historia que contar.”
― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

“He imagined her upstairs in her room, lying in bed with her hair spread across the pillow, that nightgown with the pearl buttons down the front tangled around her legs, nothing beneath the delicate fabric but her softness and warmth. Desire pulsed through his body, hungry and hot and needy.
It was unbearable to want her with such intensity, unthinkable to need her with such desperate longing, dangerous to believe that she could somehow keep the demons away. He did not want to need her, for in need, there was dependence. He could not trust, for in trust, there was betrayal. Better never to see heaven at all than to catch a glimpse of it, grab for it, and lose it.
He went to his room. He slept with his demons, and he woke alone.”
― Laura Lee Guhrke, Conor's Way

“Olivia watched him through a blur of tears, despising the futility of it. For there was nothing she could say to comfort a man whose family was long dead; there was no balm to heal wounds that scored a man's soul; and there was no way to make a man believe in the ties that bind.”
― Laura Lee Guhrke, Conor's Way

“And that, the monster said, is not the truth at all.”
― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

“Conor captured one of Falconet's pieces and chuckled. Kel noted it in the back of his mind, where his awareness of Conor always lived. He wondered if mothers were like this about their children鈥攁lways knowing where they were, if they were wounded or pleased. He didn't know; he had little experiences of mothers.”
― Cassandra Clare, Sword Catcher

“Hate and anger were what had kept him alive. He had fed on them for so long, they were the only emotions he recognized, the only ones he still knew how to feel.
And yet, right now, surrounded by the warmth of the three precious girls who were using him as a pillow, hate seemed very far away, crowded out by things unknown and yet familiar, impossible things. Love. A feeling of belonging. A sense of peace.
He closed his eyes. It was all an illusion. He didn't belong anywhere. He didn't know what love was anymore. And peace . . . Christ, what was that? So Conor sat listening to the rain and stealing a few moments of trust and affection he did not deserve from three wee girls who were not his. And he reminded himself at least twice that night that he was not a family man.”
― Laura Lee Guhrke, Conor's Way

“Neamh," he murmered. '"Tis Neamh, you are, Olivia.”
― Laura Lee Guhrke, Conor's Way