Wisdom and maturity were supposed to go hand in hand. Nessa had turned forty-eight in February, and she still didn’t have a clue.
Anger’s like rocket fuel. Either it pushes you forward or it burns you alive. – Harriett Osborne.
Justice may be slow, but she’s also relentless.
All recipes are spells and all cooks are witches.
She’d tried so hard to prove she was good enough. And now, with a few simple sentences, Harriett had explained it so plainly. Jo had been good enough all along. They’d made her feel like a failure, when the truth was, they just hadn’t wanted her around. There was nothing she could have done.
It wouldn’t have been such a leap, truth be told. She’d been seeing things through men’s eyes for years. Her entire career, men had informed her what was good and what wasn’t. And she’d always assumed they were right.
Anyone who needs a reward to be good isn’t good. They just like rewards. Good people do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do.
Do you know how beautiful it is to be alive? Do you have any idea how few people really are? You’ve got a spark. And even now, after everything you’ve been through, it’s as strong as ever.
Only when her magic began to return did she realize just how much she’d given away.
Nothing ages a person like poverty and misery,” Harriett said. “Despite what all the ads claim, it’s not skin cream that helps some women keep their glow. The only true youth serum has two ingredients – luck and money.
Everyone you help’s gonna want a piece of you. Give what you can, but you’ll be worthless to all of them unless you stay whole.
Our lives our designed to have three parts. The first is education. The second, creation. And in part three, we put our experience to use and protect those who are weaker. This third stage, which you have entered, can be one of incredible power.
I’m an adult and this is my house. I can grow what I like in my garden. Wear what I choose. What difference does it make what you or anyone else thinks of as normal? Why the f should I care if you approve?
Over the years, she’d trained several smarmy young men who’d gone on to become high-ranking executives. At the time, Jo had assumed it was her fault she’d never risen any higher. The men they’d promoted weren’t juggling a job and motherhood. They never had to scramble when the day care was closed or the babysitter called in sick. So Jo had watched as men who weren’t as smart or diligent or trustworthy as she was worked their way past her toward the company’s C-suite.
Her good, solid, middle-class mother had tried so hard to iron out her rough edges – and blamed herself when she realized she hadn’t succeeded. Those rough edges had rubbed quite a few people the wrong way. Somehow Jo had always sensed those weren’t the kind of people she wanted around her. And as she grew older, she saw that those who wanted girls to be docile and disciplined were often the same people who took advantage of them.
Still, she experienced a pang, like a spasm in an organ that had been removed or a cramp in a phantom limb. It faded quickly, and she knew that was the last pain of its kind she would feel. A woman much like her had once loved a man who looked like him. Neither of those people existed anymore.
For the first time in my life, I was alone. And for the first time in my life, I knew what the hell I was doing.
Nothing ages a person like poverty and misery.
Justice may be relentless, as Franklin says, but she’s also hobbled by rules. That’s why I choose vengeance. She’s the only mistress I serve.
That anger’s like rocket fuel,” she told Jo. “Either it pushes you forward or it burns you alive.