Mrs. Owens Quotes in The Graveyard Book
Mrs. Owens bent down to the baby and extended her arms. “Come now,” she said, warmly. “Come to Mama.”
To the man Jack, walking through the graveyard towards them on a path, his knife already in his hand, it seemed as if a swirl of mist had curled around the child, in the moonlight, and that the boy was no longer there: just damp mist and moonlight and swaying grass.
“It must be good,” said Silas, “to have somewhere that you belong. Somewhere that’s home.” There was nothing wistful in the way he said this. His voice was drier than deserts, and he said it as if he were simply stating something unarguable. Mrs. Owens did not argue.
Mrs. Owens reached out a hand, touched her son’s shoulder. “One day,” she said...and then she hesitated. One day she would not be able to touch him. One day, he would leave them. One day.
“You want to know your name, boy, before I spill your blood on the stone?”
Bod felt the cold of the knife at his neck. And in that moment, Bod understood. Everything slowed. Everything came into focus. “I know my name,” he said. “I’m Nobody Owens. That’s who I am.”
Mrs. Owens Quotes in The Graveyard Book
Mrs. Owens bent down to the baby and extended her arms. “Come now,” she said, warmly. “Come to Mama.”
To the man Jack, walking through the graveyard towards them on a path, his knife already in his hand, it seemed as if a swirl of mist had curled around the child, in the moonlight, and that the boy was no longer there: just damp mist and moonlight and swaying grass.
“It must be good,” said Silas, “to have somewhere that you belong. Somewhere that’s home.” There was nothing wistful in the way he said this. His voice was drier than deserts, and he said it as if he were simply stating something unarguable. Mrs. Owens did not argue.
Mrs. Owens reached out a hand, touched her son’s shoulder. “One day,” she said...and then she hesitated. One day she would not be able to touch him. One day, he would leave them. One day.
“You want to know your name, boy, before I spill your blood on the stone?”
Bod felt the cold of the knife at his neck. And in that moment, Bod understood. Everything slowed. Everything came into focus. “I know my name,” he said. “I’m Nobody Owens. That’s who I am.”