☘Misericordia☘ ⚡ϟ⚡⛈⚡☁ ❇️❤❣'s Reviews > The Two Doctors Górski

I've never ever wanted this much to replace 'magic' with 'mathematics' in a book ever before. I don't think it's just me since magical books in this one keep being called things like 'Twelve Theorems' (which I adore!). Plus all the hardnosed academia (which keeps making me want to gag).
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P.S. “CHEERS”? (c)
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Of all the things one could want, why could he not even have himself? (c)
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She liked reading because it made the world feel like a book written in unlimited third-person perspective, her favorite since the fantasy novels of her childhood, whose chapters traded names and narrators with the avidity of little girls swapping dolls or Pokémon. To the skilled reader, the world was just one narrator after another. Sometimes she wondered if anyone was reading her, and imagined herself saying, in some way, take it, you’re welcome to it, it’s little enough use to me. (c)
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You obviously belong together in the sense that her name sounds like a set of specialized organs, and yours sounds like a charity telethon to raise money for distressed Jons. (c) Annae and Jonathon. LOL!
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she had admired him because he had written a wonderful book about magic for children called Twelve Theorems. She could still remember the bliss of reading it, like the bliss of licking the crystallized salt from the inside of the microwave popcorn bag: finally, here was a pleasure for her alone. (c)
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... she put one foot in front of the other, telling herself with every footfall that this was what happened when you allowed yourself to feel brilliant, this was the cost of knowledge. (c)
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She stroked the fire with her mind, looking for its root, replaying the exercise just as she’d learned it from the book, at eight and ten and twelve years old, a book that had always grown with her. It wasn’t a book that taught you magic, exactly; it was a book that taught you to think like a magician, to become all mind, all air, to float above your circumstances on a cloud of thought and feeling. The root of the fire. Magicians think about system, symptom. And this fire, she thought, was a symptom of a magician who had lost control of his mind’s ability to affect the world—it might have been anyone; it might have been her. Her vision expanded, a delicate gas swirling in the clear clean night air.And then it happened, the grandeur of knowing something. A feeling like a building with a million floors, a million blocks wide, prismatic windows and inconceivable arches and a terrible weight that collapsed the caves below. She walked into the fire... (c)
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Much though she longed to disappear without dying, her face alone would never let her. (c)
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She’d known no one liked her shrill voice, the keening sounds she made when she ran. She knew they didn’t like how smart she knew she was. And so she had studied style, studied whimsy, studied poise. Style, because it was a shield; whimsy, because it was a sword; poise, because it was a suit of armor.
Of the three, she became best able to use whimsy. It was the only one of the three that struck her as an offensive weapon, something you could use to slash forward, something that would let you devote your life to thinking without fear of mockery. To be whimsical was to be wonderstruck, and wonder intimidated no one. On the contrary, everyone could look down on you for your naivete.
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She had invented a translucent veil that allowed her to meet people’s eyes. (с)
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“Small talk is the most important talk,” said Ariel, cupping his drink between his hands as if to warm either it or them. “It’s when we tell people everything. What we think is polite to ask. What we think they might like to hear. By extension, what our family is like, and our town, and our country. I don’t mean to load too much meaning onto what you think of Starbucks, of course. Small talk says more about the asker than the askee.” (c)