She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.

Respect me. Be proud, and if you love me, a little afraid, because love so often looks like fear. We are alike. We are alike.

I've always had enough, even if my enough and your enough are as different as an elephant and a minaret.

September did not want to feel for the Marquess. That’s how villains get you, she knew. You feel badly for them, and next thing you know, you’re tied to train tracks. But her wild, untried heart opened up another bloom inside her, a dark branch heavy with fruit.

Family is a transitive property.

She is so stubborn, her heart has an argument with her head every time it wants to beat.

But her heart was so cold that she could hold ice in her mouth and it would never melt.