Metaphors are an interesting example of creating magic in prose.

She had changed him. The ice was in his eyes and in his heart, like he had predicted with that song, but now they were deep embedded there, all the pain of the world. Not pain to make you feel for somebody else but pain to make you stop feeling.

You have to make your own family, your own life.

You're meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.

The wishes might not come true the way you think they will, not everything will be perfect, but love will come because it always does, because why else would it exist and it will make everything hurt a little less. You just have to believe in yourself.

My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.

Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.