Abra DeMadrigal didn't look young enough to be my sister anymore. Her sorrow weighed her down and aged her. She was still beautiful, but she looked very far away. No wonder our people had raven eyes, so distant, so sad. No matter how wise she was, my mother looked like a woman who hadn't truely believed how much evil there was in our world. Not until this moment.

Sometimes words drew blood, they cut your tongue, they made you know things you couldn't unknow.

Hearts were made for being broken. There's really no way around it if you want to be a human being.

Every time I finish a book, I forget everything I learned writing it - the information just disappears out of my head

If we had paid attention, we would have understood there are some things in this world you cannot outrun.

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.

Are people drawn to each other because of the stories they carry inside?