Quotes Galore : A Court of Mist and Fury (ACOTAR #2) Part I

Quotes Galore : A Court of Mist and Fury (ACOTAR #2)  Part I


If anyone asks me to say two things about ACOTAR series, I would say, one : Rhysand. And two, it just gets better and better. I swear it does. The ACOTAR series is like the gift that keeps on giving. I honestly cannot get enough of these characters. I mean, look at me, it has been months since I last finished reading the third book and here I am dedicating a whole blog post to gush about A Court of Mist and Fury.

Remember, back in the first book, A Court of Thorns and Roses , where we can’t – quite literally cannot – get enough of Rhysand? Where we were only shown a snippet of Rhysand and yet some of us have contemplated switching ships – yes, you got me. I admitted to having these thoughts  – despite having been reading about Tamlin for about 3/4 of the book? I remember that very well. And will be forever thankful that Sarah J. Maas capitalize on that and single handedly turns the game around from Tamlin, Tamlin, Tamlin, to #Rhsyandforlife. 

For me, there will be no one else for Feyre but Rhysand.

Wait, Tamlin, you say?

Tamlin, who?


Anyways, rants and jokes aside, when it comes to the favorite book in the ACOTAR series so far, book two gets the cake. Before ACOMAF, I did not know that I could be all out fangirling and swooning yet at the same time having my theoretical panties dropped to the floor. I mean, all three books in this series are wonderfully written, but the things that happened in this book though. 


Quotes Galore : A Court of Mist and Fury (ACOTAR #2) Part I


And so I have decided to compile all the quotes that I love from ACOMAF, although I will be splitting it into two parts because honestly? There are just way too many awesome that is happening in this book and I want to be able to capture it all. Without further ado, enjoy!





“For him, I had done this—for him, I’d gladly wrecked myself and my immortal soul.”


“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.


“Tamlin,” I breathed.
Tamlin took a single step toward me, his golden face turning sallow, but remained focused on Rhys. “Name your price.”
“Don’t bother,” Rhys crooned, linking elbows with me. Every spot of contact was abhorrent, unbearable.
He’d take me back to the Night Court, the place Amarantha had supposedly modeled Under the Mountain after, full of depravity and torture and death—
“Tamlin, please.”
“Such dramatics,” Rhysand said, tugging me closer.


“Get the hell out of my head.”

“Likewise.” He stalked a few steps away. “You think I enjoy being awoken every night by visions of you puking? You send everything right down that bond, and I don’t appreciate having a front-row seat when I’m trying to sleep.”



“One heartbeat, I was staring after him—the next, I had my shoe in a hand.
I hurled it at him with all my strength.
All my considerable, immortal strength.
I barely saw my silk slipper as it flew through the air, fast as a shooting star, so fast that even a High Lord couldn’t detect it as it neared—
And slammed into his head.”


“You’re a High Lord—don’t you have better things to do?”

“Of course. But none as enjoyable as seeing you squirm.”


“Try to read it, Feyre.”
Prick. I snatched the paper to me, nearly ripping it in half in the process. I looked at the first word, sounding it out in my head. “Y-you … ” The next I figured out with a combination of my silent pronunciation and logic. “Look … ”
“Good,” he murmured.
“I didn’t ask for your approval.”
Rhys chuckled.
“Ab … Absolutely.” It took me longer than I wanted to admit to figure that out. The next word was even worse. “De … Del … ”
I deigned to glance at him, brows raised.
“Delicious,” he purred.


The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious than the last:
        Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.
        Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord.
        Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.


I missed you,” he said between kisses. “I went out of my mind.”


Tamlin to appear behind me, and shove that hand down. “You end her bargain right here, right now, and I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.”

My heart stopped dead. “Are you out of your mind?”

Tamlin didn’t so much as blink in my direction.

Rhysand merely raised a brow. “I already have everything I want.” 


I said, “Don’t you have other things to deal with?”

“Of course I do,” he said, shrugging. “I have so many things to deal with that I’m sometimes tempted to unleash my power across the world and wipe the board clean. Just to buy me some damned peace.” He grinned, bowing at the waist. Even that casual mention of his power failed to chill me, awe me. “But I’ll always make time for you.”


“Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” Mor said, giving a warning glare at Cassian, who had indeed opened his mouth. “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?”


“You do what you love, what you need.”


“I love my people, and my family. Do not think I wouldn’t become a monster to keep them protected.”


“It’s a shame,” I said, the words nearly gobbled up by the sound of the city music. “That others in Prythian don’t know. A shame that you let them think the worst.”

He took a step back, his wings beating the air like mighty drums. “As long as the people who matter most know the truth, I don’t care about the rest.”



The voice was at once the night and the dawn and the stars and the earth.


“So I’m your huntress and thief?”

His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”


His words were a lethal caress as he said, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”


“There are good days and hard days for me—even now. Don’t let the hard days win.”


“Maybe you should … go.”

“Why? You seemed so insistent that I train you.”

“I can’t concentrate with you around,” I admitted. “And go … far. I can feel you from a room away.”


“You,” I breathed, not taking my eyes from the musicians playing so skillfully that even the diners had set down their forks in the cafés nearby. “You sent that music into my cell. Why?”

Rhysand’s voice was hoarse. “Because you were breaking. And I couldn’t find another way to save you.”


“There are different kinds of darkness,” Rhys said. I kept my eyes shut. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful.” I pictured each. “There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”


“One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than pass notes back and forth at night.”

“I do have more important things to do,” he purred. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.”


“He did—does love me, Rhysand.”

“The issue isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.”


I turned in a circle. “What’s the most valuable thing in here?”

“Thinking of stealing?”

I choked on a laugh. “Wouldn’t asking that question make me a lousy thief?”

Tarquin studied me. “I’d say I’m looking at the most valuable thing in here.”


“To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.”

Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”


What do the tattooed stars and mountain on your knees mean?


That I will bow before no one and nothing but my crown.


“No wings. No weapons. No sign of the warrior. Nothing but the elegant, cruel High Lord the world believed him to be. His hands were in his pockets, his black tunic seeming to gobble up the light. And on his head sat a crown of stars.
No sign of the male who had been drinking on the roof; no sign of the fallen prince kneeling on his bed. The full impact of him threatened to sweep me away.
Here—here was the most powerful High Lord ever born.

The face of dreams and nightmares.”


“The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me.”


“You think I don’t know how stories get written—how this story will be written?” Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I’d seen it. “I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince—the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance.”


“What about letting your friends see your real face? But maybe it’s easier not to. Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them—who would want to bother with that sort of mess?”


“Why does anything cling to something? Maybe they love wherever they’re going so much that it’s worth it. Maybe they’ll keep coming back, until there’s only one star left. Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again.”


“Do you—do you want to dance with me?” I whispered.

“Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.”

“Even if I step on your toes?”

“Even then.”


“He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek. I closed my eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravaged me in its wake, that might ravage Prythian. And all around us, as if the world itself were indeed falling apart, stars rained down.
Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as I stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled. The smile the world would likely never see, the smile he’d given up for the sake of his people, his lands. He said softly, “I am … very glad I met you, Feyre.”


“And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.”

I sipped from my wine. “And if he had grabbed me?”

There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”


The Court of Dreams.

The people who knew that there was a price, and one worth paying, for that dream. The bastard-born warriors, the Illyrian half-breed, the monster trapped in a beautiful body, the dreamer born into a court of nightmares … And the huntress with an artist’s soul.





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