But most important of all, she explained that it was all right to say 'No. I disagree.' that was a gift. I understood it was power. The power to think my own thoughts. The power to believe in myself.

She liked to disappear, even when she was in the same room as other people. It was a talent, as it was a curse.

That is the joy of reading fiction: when all is said and done, the novel belongs to the reader and his or her imagination.

It wasn't right to have someone charge into you your world without even asking, acting as if you were nothing more than an egg to be flipped and flopped, sunny-side up or scrambled, depending on the whims on whoever ran your life..._

Some stories stayed with you even when you wanted to forget them.

You don't fight for peace sister,' Nahara told me, 'You embrace it.

Some things you cannot wish away or think away. They become part of you when you remember them.