Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?

The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages.

There could be few men whose love for a woman had been written on his face with a knife.

And I plan to write a sequel to Dragon Rider.

Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar.

Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before.

Why could she remember nothing but stories of frightened people when Capricorn looked at her? She usually found it so easy to escape somewhere else, to get right inside the minds of people and animals who existed only on paper, so why not now? Because she was afraid. "Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination.