I have the benefit of experience which tells me that sulking solves nothing

Drowning yourself won't help, she told herself sternly. Now, drowning Will, on the other hand.

Looking at her, he was in London again. He saw the gaslight and smelled the smoke and dirt and horses, the metallic tang of fog, the flowers in Kew Gardens. He saw a boy with black hair and blue eyes like Alec's. A girl with long brown curls and a serious face. In a world where everything went away from him eventually, she was one of the few remaining constants.

And he understands. He understands why people hold hands: he’d always thought it was about possessiveness, saying This is mine. But it’s about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about I want you with me and don’t go.

She realized that this scarred, sarcastic boy, was gentle with the things he loved.

When I was a little kid, I realized that if you say any word over and over fast enough, it loses all it's meaning.

If no one cares for you at all, do you even really exist?