Цитаты из книги «Седьмой сын», страница 9

How can you be lonely? You`ve got yourself, haven`t you? If you ever lose yourself, then you`ll really be lonely. In the meantime, stop complaining.

"How many of different types of boggart do you think there are?"

I hadn`t a clue. "I know two types already," I said, "the free and the bound, but I couldn`t even begin to guess about the others."

"That`s good twice over, lad. You`ve remembered what I taught you and you`ve shown yourself to be someone who doesn`t take wild guesses."

"That`s one of the first and most important lessons that an apprentice has to learn," he said; "the difference between waking and dreaming. Some never learn that."

"We don`t use magic, lad,'" the Spook said, his voice hardly more than a whisper in the darkness. "The main tools of our trade are common sense, courage and the keeping of accurate records, so we can learn from the past. Above all, we don`t believe in prophecies. We don`t believe that the future is fixed. So if what your mother wrote comes true, then it`s because we make it come true. Do you understand?"

Someone has to do it. So it might as well be me.

I walked down the steps and set there in this cellar in the darkness. Then I took three deep breathes and I faced my fear. I faced the darkness itself, which is the most terrifying thing of all, especially for people like us, because things come to us in the dark. They seek us out with whispers and take shapes only our eyes can see. But I did it, and when I left this cellar the worst was over.

Just because you`ve left home, it doesn`t mean that you can`t come back and visit.

"You`ll make a fortune doing that job. There`s just one problem, though..."

"What`s that?" I asked.

"You`ll need every penny you earn. Know why?"

I shrugged.

"Because the only friends you`ll have are the ones you buy!"

My dad was a farmer and his father had been a farmer too, and the first rule of farming is to keep the farm together. You can`t just divide it up among amongst your children; it would be smaller and smaller with each generation until there was nothing left. So a father leaves his farm to his eldest son. Then he finds jobs for the rest.

Она всегда была кем-то посредине, ни хорошей, ни плохой. Но разве не все мы такие? Никто ведь не безупречен.