It's not that I literally think I'm a fearie. It's just that I feel so different from most people. And this idea of a race living underground in caverns, spending all their days dancing and playing the fiddle and eating flowers and reciting poetry and sharing their dreams, that to me sounds much more real than the way people live in this world, hating and fighting and wanting and hurting.

Maybe her own tears were the poison that made her grow.

We no longer believe in fairy tales. But we will learn to believe in monsters

But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.

Weetzie wished she could shake blue glitter around all of them - keeping them sparkling and safe.

But be careful; sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away.

Pianos, unlike people, sing when you give them your every growl. They know how to dive into the pit of your stomach and harmonize with your roars when you’ve split yourself open. And when they see you, guts shining, brain pulsing, heart right there exposed in a rhythm that beats need need, need need, need need, pianos do not run. And so she plays.