Anthony Doerr again takes language beyond mortal limits.
Surely He intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion which no mortal could make, and no mortal could stay.
We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
There's a certain pattern that exists with geniuses - an eccentricity, a lack of social graces and an inability to really communicate with mere mortals.
I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.
The human condition is such that pain and effort are not just symptoms which can be removed without changing life itself; they are the modes in which life itself, together with the necessity to which it is bound, makes itself felt. For mortals, the easy life of the gods would be a lifeless life.
Security is mortal's chiefest enemy.
It is different for us mortals. We are the ones who become old and grey. We are the ones who become worn at the seams and disappear. But not our dreams. They can live on in other people even after we have gone.
I want to hear as much music as I possibly can before I leave this mortal coil but it's impossible to hear it all because there's so much of it.
Mortals grow swiftly in misfortune.
Nothing vast enters the life of mortals without a curse.
There's a tendency to attribute magical skills and knowledge to people who've been elevated in some way - appearing on TV, or having an impressive title, or coming from a wealthy family. There's often an assumption that these people possess some rare, mysterious qualities mere mortals lack. What crap.
Sleep, Silence's child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings Indifferent host to shepherds and kings Sole comforter to minds with grief oppressed.
This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
Stupid, fragile mortals.
If mortals wait until the gods remake the world to their liking to be happy, they are already in hell.
Oh, never and forever aren't for mortals, love. But we won't be parted till I know it's right that we part.
I do not know how much they see through the Mist. I doubt it would matter to them if they knew the truth. Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters.
I can't wait to make you the love of my mortal life.
In their youth, mortals behave more like nymphs. Adulthood seems impossibly distant, let alone the enfeeblement of old age. But ponderously, inevitably, it overtakes you.