189 Quotes About Steampunk

Music can make you feel things that aren’t yours—sadness, or love, or joy. A good song has a magic to it. It pulls you in and the feelings in the music take over and you become the music, you become the song.

This time he had no choice but to look into her eyes. He did not look away. It was the bright fierce gaze that she remembered so vividly from their first meeting. He’d reminded her of an eagle, the Castellan of Amyth

The idea of marrying Lukan made her skin crawl. He was a Chenayan. She, a Norin. He was her conqueror. She, his conquered. He had been born and raised to lord over her. She had been born and raised to hate him. They might as well have been different species.

She looked up at her father. “I am bound so tight by oaths that I feel like a fly in a spider’s web. All I can do is use every resource I have before the spider strikes.

Elementary, my dear colonel,' she said. 'When every sensible explanation has been disproved, then whatever remains, however silly, must be the truth.

The trouble was, Lily reflected, as she sneaked up the last set of stairs to the girls' dormitory, she didn't want the life of a well-bred Victorian young lady, she wanted the life of an air-pirate.

Simon’s baby,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Simon’s baby girl. But you are too many, much too many to be Simon’s baby girl. How many are you?” “Seventeen,” I whispered. He was still uncomfortably close. “Lane!” he shouted. I jumped. “Do I have a niece of seventeen?” “Yes,” came Lane’s voice from the door. The old man relaxed. “Then that is as it should be. Lane always knows when things are as they should be. Where is your father, little niece?

They were all machines, he thought, just like La Mettrie had said in L'Homme Machine all those years ago. So he, Orphan, was a machine of flesh and blood, and Lucy, now, was made of something else, more complex perhaps- but they were the same and...They were in love.Sometimes that was enough.

Y así, con parsimonia de estalactita, el ser confeccionó el caballete de una delicada osamenta que enseguida quedó encapotada por un ondulante manto de carne, nervios y tendones. Tras el enrejado del esternón asomaron entonces los esponjosos pulmones que lanzaron a través de la cerbatana de la tráquea recién colocada un reguero de vaho, anegando la urna con la tibia novedad de una respiración.