Home > Author > March McCarron
1 " Mr. Paggle lifted his own ale in the air. “What shall we toast to?”“Yarrow’s right hook?” Peer said.“Bray’s unladylike nerve?” Arlow suggested.“To new friends,” Yarrow said.“New friends,” they agreed. Their glasses clinked merrily. "
― March McCarron , Division of the Marked (The Marked #1)
2 " I've not spent much time with arrogant little prats.I don't know what sorts of things your kind talk about. "
3 " What shall we do now?" he asked."Something very dreadful," she said,her voice sour."Ask Arlow Bowlerham for the name of a dressmaker. "
4 " Don’t,” her knee narrowly missed connecting with his groin, “call me woman.”He smiled at her—his blood-stained teeth stark against his soot darkened face.“Why?” She punched him in the jaw and he reeled, but stayed upright.“Did the Chiona steal your gender as well as your likability? "
5 " Love has nothing to do with the object-thank goodness, as we, none of us, really deserve it. To love is a skill-it is to see with tender eyes. To render that which you see dear, not because of its inherent value, but because of your appreciation of it. "
6 " To love someone is to see them as valuable, to appreciate them, see their worth, hope the best for them. "
7 " Charlem watched, his heart lodged somewhere in his windpipe, as she spun, the candlelight making love to the planes of her face, and her eyes locked on his own for a brief infinity. "
― March McCarron , Elevation of the Marked (The Marked #2)
8 " This fractured spirit—Quade would die on it. "
― March McCarron , Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked #3)
9 " He had long since come to believe that the quality of a society could be discerned by the treatment of its meanest citizens. A true aristocracy existed to helm lower society, not crush it. "
10 " He did, Mama, just last week.” A loud sob broke from her throat. “He said Breide En Alama. And I asked what that meant—you know, because the Ollas family all spoke Deltish—” her voice rose higher with each word, and it clearly pained her to speak, but she plunged on, “and he said it means ‘our hearts are belonging.’ Isn’t that nice, Mama? Breide En Alama…our hearts are belonging… "
11 " Yarrow ran his fingers along the raised mark upon his neck, as if hoping it would rub away. A ridiculous notion—it was as much a part of him as the nose on his face. His ma, walking at his side, slipped her hand into his own and squeezed. He could not bring himself to look at her, nor at his siblings, for fear his mask of bravery might crack. Fourteen-year-olds did not cry. "
12 " Yarrow sat, paralyzed. He didn’t register the luxurious red velvet interior of the carriage or the sweeping grasslands outside the window. He barely noticed the girl sitting cross-legged on the bench opposite him. But after some time—whether twenty minutes or two hours, he could not have said—the numbness faded. It was rapidly replaced with, first, a sense of being utterly dislodged in the world, and shortly after that, a deep wretchedness that started at the tip of his head and ran down his spine, pooling in his boots. "
