Maybe nothing will ever change for us,” he said. “But don’t you want to be around just in case it does?

You're a wizard," I snapped. "Can't you just use magic to make your own food?" "Ah, yes," he retorted. "Because mud pies are so very delicious and the wind fills empty stomachs quite nicely.

You get a good review, and it’s like crack. You need another hit. And another. And another. I know authors are like Tinkerbell and generally need applause to survive, but it’s a slippery slope.

What I’m trying to get at is, as bad as everything seems, I think, at its heart, life is good. It doesn’t throw anything at us that it knows we can’t handle—and, even if it takes its time, it turns everything right side up again.

Real friends are hard to come by, and as annoying as Henry is, he'd throw himself in front of dragon's fire for you." "And that's the definition of a real friend?" "Oh, yes, just ask Owain." He laughed.

If a heart could break once, it shouldn't have been able to happen again.

Nope," he whispered, when I tried to tug it away. "Mine now.