Hello friends. This post is a collection of quotes from The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue book by V. E. Schwab. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue is a dazzling adventure that plays out across centuries and continents as a young woman learns how far she will go to leave her mark on the world.
What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?
March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring - though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don't know what you'll find, until you step outside.
The old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful. They are fickle, unsteady as moonlight on water, or shadows in a storm. If you insist on calling them, take heed: be careful what you ask for, be willing to pay the price. And no matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.
I do not want to marry. I do not want to belong to someone else. I do not want to belong to anyone but myself. I want to be free. Free to live, and to find my own way, to love, or to be alone, but at least it is my choice, and I am so tired of not having choices, so scared of the years rushing past beneath my feet. I do not want to die as I've lived, which is no life at all.
Of all the inventions Addie has seen ushered into the world movies might just be her favorite one. Books are wonderful, portable, lasting, but sitting there, in the darkened theater, the wide screen filling her vision, the world falls away, and for a few short hours she is someone else, plunged into romance and intrigue and comedy and adventure. All of it complete with 4K picture and stereo sound.
Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it's home.
No matter how many times she walks these blocks, no matter how many hours, or days, or years she spends learning the contours of New York, as soon as she turns her back it seems to shift again, reassemble. Buildings go up and come down, businesses open and close, people arrive and depart and the deck shuffles itself again and again and again.
These days, everyone's looking down. It's nice to see someone looking up.
Back home, a good storm would wash the world clean, leave it smelling crisp and new. But it seems nothing can rinse the grime from the streets of Paris. If anything, that storm has only made things worse, the world wet and dull, puddles brown with mud and filth.
They say people are like snowflakes, each one unique, but I think they're more like skies. Some are cloudy, some are stormy, some are clear, but no two are ever quite the same.
Women - at least, women of a certain class - never venture forth alone, even during the day. They are kept inside like potted plants, tucked behind the curtains of their homes. And when they do go out, they go in groups, safe within the cages of each other's company, and always in the light of day. To walk alone in the morning is a scandal, but to walk alone at night, that is something else.
Live long enough, and you learn how to read a person. To ease them open like a book, some passages underlined and others hidden between the lines.
Freedom is a pair of trousers and a buttoned coat. A man's tunic and a tricorne hat. If only she had known. The darkness claimed he'd given her freedom, but really, there is no such thing for a woman, not in a world where they are bound up inside their clothes, and sealed inside their homes, a world where only men are given leave to roam.
My father made the grave mistake of sending me away to school, and the more I read, the more I thought, and the more I thought, the more I knew I had to be in Paris. [...] This is where the thinkers are. This is where the dreamers live.
If you only walk in other people's steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.
This is what she loves about a city like New York. It is so full of hidden chambers, infinite doors leading into infinite rooms, and if you have the time, you can find so many of them. Some she's found by accident, others in the course of this or that adventure. She keeps them tucked away, like slips of paper between the pages of her book.
So much of life becomes routine, but food is like music, like art, replete with the promise of something new.
A woman must take responsibility for her own education, for no man truly will.
Ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root.
The nicest days are always the ones we don't plan.
Pain can be beautiful. It can transform. It can create.
There are a hundred kinds of silence. There's the thick silence of places long sealed shut, and the muffled silence of ears stoppered up. The empty silence of the dead, and the heavy silence of the dying. There is the hollow silence of a man who has stopped praying, and the airy silence of an empty synagogue, and the held-breath silence of someone hiding from themselves. There is the awkward silence that fills the space between people who don't know what to say. And the taut silence that falls over those who do, but don't know where or how to start.
History is something you look back on, not something you really feel at the time. In the moment, you're just ... living.
Dressing up is just like watching cartoons, something you enjoyed as a kid, before it passes through the no man's land of teen angst, the ironic age of early twenties. And then somehow, miraculously, it crosses back into the realm of the genuine, the nostalgic. A place reserved for wonder.
You can't make people love you. If it's not a choice, it isn't real.
Florence is all odd shapes and sharp edges, domes and spires, white stone walls and copper-slated roofs. It is a place painted in a different palette, music played in a different chord.
Everything changes. It is the nature of the world. Nothing stays the same.
Eighteen is old enough to vote, twenty-one is old enough to drink, but thirty is old enough to make decisions.
There's no way to un-know the fact that someone is dying. It eats away all the normal, and leaves something wrong and rotten in its place.
Nothing is all good or all bad. Life is so much messier than that.
And this, is what a good-bye should be. Not a period, but an ellipsis, a statement trailing off, until someone is there to pick it up. It is a door left open.
Listen to me. Life can feel very long sometimes, but in the end, it goes so fast. You better live a good life.
Belief is a bit like gravity. Enough people believe a thing, and it becomes as solid and real as the ground beneath your feet. But when you're the only one holding on to an idea, a memory, a girl, it's hard to keep it from floating away.
A story is an idea, wild as a weed, springing up wherever it is planted.