She whispered, 'C'etait la Verite?' Was that Verity? Or perhaps she just meant, Was that the truth? Was it true? Did any of it really happen? Were the last three hours real? 'Yes,' I whispered back. 'Oui. C'etait la verite.

You can't just sit in a corner weeping or you'll die.

It's impossible to stall a Lizzie.

Hope is treacherous, but how can you live without it?

I think as readers we put ourselves in the protagonist's place because we want to be like that person. That's why sometimes we don't like protagonists who aren't all that nice; we want to relate to the protagonist.

You can come back to friendship. You can let it drop, for five years or ten years, and come back to it.

One moment flying in green sunlight, then the sky suddenly grey and dark.