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

...but now the worst crime was pretending to be something you were not.

The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.

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

I don't really read as much as I used to. A lot of what I was looking for as an escape I find in writing. And the other thing is that I don't want to get into someone else's language when I'm working

I also like the whole idea of fairy tales and folk tales being a woman's domain, considered a lesser domain at the time they were told.

Crying wasn't like riding a bike. Give it up, and you quickly forget how it's done.