Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination.

She wanted to return to her dream. Perhaps it was still somewhere there behind her closed eyelids. Perhaps a little of its happiness still clung like gold dust to her lashes. Don't dreams in fairy tales sometimes leave a token behind?

How fast the ears learned to tell what sounds meant, much faster than it took the eyes to decipher written words.

What's that sticky stuff called? Basta: Duct tape. Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape.

It's a good idea to have your own books with you in a strange place

The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.

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.