Oh, painted smirk of a hopeless dawn, the girl is still wearing her breeches.

True stories seldom have endings. I don't want a happy ending, I want more story.

Making a wish is like saying, 'I can't deal with anything, I give up, somebody bigger come along and solve it all instead.

Sometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp.

I am anything I wish to be. The world cannot choose for me. No, it is for me to choose what the world shall be.

I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated . . .

Everybody knew that books were dangerous. Read the wrong book, it was said, and the words crawled around your brain on black legs and drove you mad, wicked mad.