No historians or librar ians were harmed in the making of this book, but some were badgered extensively with questions.
My head kinda hurts,” Miss New Mexico said. Several of the girls gasped. Half of an airline serving tray was lodged in her forehead, forming a small blue canopy over her eyes. “What is it?” Miss New Mexico checked to make sure her bra straps weren’t showing. “N-nothing.” Miss Ohio managed an awkward smile.
Read backward in order to move forward, resisters. The best part? You can find everything you need at your local library. Libraries: serving the resistance since forever. Seriously, libraries are The. Best. Don’t even bother fighting me on this one. You will lose.
Sam’s mother used to say that inside everyone was the chance to change the world. It sat like a seed eager to grow into greatness. The professor could have his ghosts. Ordinary people were capable of extraordinary bravery. That was the only magic Sam knew or trusted.
Evie’s eyes widened. “More interesting than dope and sorcery?
And farther still, in the vast prairies mythologized in the American mind, a figure stood shadowed in the dark, biding his time, a scarecrow awaiting harvest.
Simplifying people was a way of not having to think too much about them, to make them fit into your own story. People were inconvenient, though. Behind the idea of a person you constructed to suit yourself, the people you loved had their own stories- whole worlds going on inside- and you ignored them at your peril.
People will disappoint you, Gemma. The question to ask is whether you can learn to live with the disappointment and move on.
People will be who they are, and there is not enough magic in any world to change that.
I am a lot of things, not all of them noble.
We’ve the right to dream, and that, I suppose, is the magic’s greatest power: the notion that we can pick possibility from the trees like ripe fruit.
It was sent parcel post two weeks ago from Miss Felicity Worthington and addressed to Mrs. Rao, Mrs. Gemma Doyle Rao.
You don’t notice the light without a bit of shadow.
Don’t tell anybody, but sometimes, I just don’t want to sparkle.
Jericho didn’t seem to know life beyond the pages of a musty old book, and he didn’t seem interested in knowing anything beyond that, either.
Tell him I went to the lavatory,” Evie said with a roll of her eyes. “Men are pos-i-tute-ly paralyzed by the mention of females in lavatories.
We are the dead. We are the keepers of the stories. We hold the history of blood and promises. We are speaking. Are you listening? Will you hear?
He took her face into his hands and his kiss blotted out the sky.
Sorry for all the pain and loneliness and disappointment. But there is this, too.
The King of Crows raked his fingers across the dark until it bled. He licked the blood from his fingers with a forked tongue. “People will believe anything, you know. You only need them to be frightened enough.