In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realize it is far more common for men to turn into rats.
And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever.
So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.
There was much to hate in this world and too much to love.
She dropped her shyness like a nightgown, and in the liquid glare of sunlight on old boards she held up her hands-as if, in the terror of the upcoming skirmish, she had at last understood that she was beautiful. In her own way.
The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say.
You confuse not speaking with not listening.
The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.
Maybe the definition of home is the place where you are never forgiven. So you may always belong there, bound by guilt. And maybe the cost of belonging is worth it.
People always did like to talk, didn’t they? That’s why I call myself a witch now: the Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.
Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.
The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst – there is always choice.
That was such a wonderful time, even in its strangeness and sadness-and life isn’t the same now. It’s wonderful, but it isn’t the same.
I shall pray for your soul,? promised Nessarose. I shall wait for your shoes,? Elphie answered.
Waking up was a daily cruelty, an affront, and she avoided it by not sleeping.
How poetic you are,” she said. “I’ve a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception.
Don’t wish,“said Rain, “don’t start. Wishing only...
Or is it just that the world upwraps itself to you, again and again, as soon as you’re ready to see it anew?
Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today, I wish to hell he’d go away.