You, on the other hand, wish to know things. And no one can forgive a girl for that.
Why is it, she wondered now, that boys get to do things and be things and girls only get to watch?
Don’t you see? A pretty girl must please the world. But an ugly girl? She’s free to please herself.
Life ends. But love? Love lives forever.
We never know who we are... until we’re tested.
We who have means and a voice must use them to help those who have neither. Yet how can we help them if we don’t even know about them? And how can we know about them if no one writes about them? Is it so wrong to want to know things?
Go now, girl. Remake the world.
Sir, no amount of money, no matter how vast, could induce me to stroll, perambulate, promenade, or engage in any form of locomotion with you whatsoever. Good evening.
Every war is different, yet each battle is the same. The enemy is only a distraction. The thing you are fighting against, always, is yourself.
Her grey eyes sparkled with passion as she spoke. Sid looked into them and for a second he glimpsed her soul. He saw what she was – fierce and brave. Upright. Impatient. And good. So good that she would sit covered in gore, shout at dangerous men, and keep a long, lonely vigil – all to save the likes of him. He realized she was a rare creature, as rare as a rose in winter.
Headstrong is just a word, Katie – a word others call you when you don’t do what they want.
Help the others believe, Serafina. Help Ling believe she can break through the silences. Help Neela believe her greatest power comes from within, not without. Help Becca believe the warmest fire is the one that’s shared. Help Ava believe the gods did know what they were doing. That’s what a leader does – she inspires other to believe in themselves.
Fairy tales give it to us straight. They tell us something profound and essential – that the woods are real, and dark, and full of wolves. That we will, at times, find ourselves hopelessly lost in them. But these tales also tell us that we are all that we need, that we have all we need – guts, smarts, and maybe a pocketful of breadcrumbs – to find our way home.
Keep being the author of your own story. Never let anyone else write it for you again.
Love is not for cowards.
Lots of things are impossible,” she said softly. “Until they’re not.
Believe that you can make your way. Or don’t. Either way, you are right.
As a child, she’d thought all the noise and commotion was the most wild, wonderful game, but as she’d grown older, she understood why everyone rushed around so: they were chasing a story.
Life can be so difficult, and stories help us escape those difficulties. It’s all right to lose yourself in one.
No. I meant stay with me today. And tomorrow. And every day after.