When you keep a secret, the secret keeps you. – Becca.
Uh-oh,′ Lafitte said ominously. ‘Swamp queen just go angry.
Sometimes it’s easier to say that you hate what you can’t have rather than admit how badly you want it.
I am my head and my heart, all that I know, all that I love, everything I hope for. I am the blue waters of the Rhine, sparkling in the sun.
Difficulties are things that show people what they are.
And that lesson was perfectly clear: There is nothing more dangerous than kindness.
Kindness is many things,” he said. “It is gentle. Tender. Tolerant. It is born of patience and faith. And sometimes, yes, it’s dangerous. Helping a wounded animal that’s likely to lash out, standing up for someone who’s being taunted by bullies... these things are all dangerous. But to try to understand another creature, to put ourselves in their place, to help them – even when it costs us – that shows strength, Sophie, not weakness.
Mirror, mirror on the wall... who will bring about my fall?
Wounds can heal if you pull the thorns out.
You gave those people hope, girl, and that’s a dangerous thing. There’s no greater weapon in the whole world than hope. It’s dangerous because it’s powerful.
Love is a soft thing. It smells like woodsmoke and sounds like rain. It tastes like sugared apples. It costs nothing to give yet is more precious than a sea of diamonds.
What an incredible metaphor for what fear does to us – it devours our hearts. Hollows us out. Leaves us empty.
Sometimes the things that make us all wrong is the thing that make us perfect.
We must not run from our unhappiness. We must listen to it. It has much to tell us.
She was fearsome. She was strong. She was beautiful.
Watch a child die for the lack of a few coins. Do that, and you might start to understand a few things, like the difference between a theft and a crime.
A powerful king has taken my heart, she thought. But a penniless boy has stolen it.
Venom can be drawn from flesh, but poisoned words lodge deep in our hearts, where no antidote can reach.
Sophie lowered her head into her hands, feeling as if she were made of the thinnest glass, so brittle and fragile that the softest tap could shatter her. She had escaped death only to come face-to-face with it once more.
Never is a wolf more dangerous than when he is in a cage.