I've gotten sick again. I'm not sure how or why. I really started noticing it on Friday, but it didn't hit me until last night. Once again I missed all my classes. But given the fact that I sound like nails on a chalkboard, have about as much brainpower as a newt, and am probably highly contagious, it's probably a mercy for those who'd have to interact with me.
In the few lucid hours I've had (it's been very strange) I managed to re-read Lirael. I'd forgotten how funny it was.
After Nick is forced to sign a confidentiality agreement, "They forgot sign language, so I expect I shall inform a deaf journalist when I get back."
A description of King Touchstone's character: "The only time Sam had ever seen that fury was when a false ambassador from one of the Northern clans had attempted to stab Sabriel with a serving fork at a formal dinner in the Palace. Touchstone, roaring like some sort of terrible beast had picked up the six-foot barbarian and hurled him the length of the table, onto a roast swan. This had scared everyone much more than the assasination attempt, particularly when Touchstone then tried to pick up the double throne and throw that after the man. Fortunately he'd failed and was eventually calmed by Sabriel stroking his brow as he blindly wrenched at the marble footing of the the throne."
That image cracks me up so much.
During a nightly exploration:
"The door," whispered Lirael, making no effort to get up. "It's a grave door. To a crypt."
"It's got my name on it," muttered Lirael.
There was a long pause. The the Dog said, "So you think someone went to all the trouble to make you a crypt a thousand years ago on the off chance you might turn up one day, walk in, and have a conveniant heart attack?"
"Aunt Kirrith says it's very ill-bread to want to dig your own grave!"
to whom it may concern . . .cheese-itz are the food of the devil, YOU JUST CAN'T STOP EATING THEM!