The Golden Compass

There was a stir of excitement among some of the Scholars, as if, having written treatises on the existence of the unicorn without ever having seen one, they'd been presented with a living example newly captured.

uglier than the other.

It was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity.

Nor do we have any notion of honor, as bears do, for instance. An insult to a bear is a deadly thing. To us… inconceivable. How could you insult a witch? What would it matter if you did?

And finally, there were other kinds of lessons so gently and subtly given that they didn't feel like lessons at all. How to wash one's own hair; how to judge which colors suited one; how to say no in such a charming way that no offense was given; how to put on lipstick, powder, scent.

She'd been in trouble often enough to be used to it.

But think of Adam and Eve like an imaginary number, like the square root of minus one: you can never see any concrete proof that it exists, but if you include it in your equations, you can calculate all manner of things that couldn't be imagined without it.

She was Lyra, cold and frightened by all means, but herself.

Human beings can't see anything without wanting to destroy it, Lyra. That's original sin. And I'm going to destroy it. Death is going to die.

Who could doubt someone so charming, so well-connected, so sweet and reasonable? But because it was an obscure and unofficial kind of operation, she was someone the Magisterium could deny if they needed to, as well.