You can't dispute the ridiculous. You can't argue reasonably with evil.

Every time someone forgets, someone else disappears,' my brother wrote.

Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.

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.

Here's the thing about luck...you don't know if it's good or bad until you have some perspective.

I think we are bound to, and by, nature. We may want to deny this connection and try to believe we control the external world, but every time there's a snowstorm or drought, we know our fate is tied to the world around us

That's the way love sounds, my mother told me. You think it should feel like honey, but instead it cuts like a knife.