I was asking about lust, wasnʼt I? I was fairly certain of it. But isnʼt love supposed to come before lust? It does in the dictionary.

Did I kill him?” I said. “No, miss,” said Robert. “Pity.

But witchy magic doesn’t listen to please and pretty please, and anyway, I didn’t really care. I only pretended to care because not caring makes me a monster.

People think me a sort of Florence Nightingale, but I have no heroic qualities. I simply don’t feel very much.

I like rain and mist. I've never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.

He’s harmless, poor thing. That’s what everyone said. It was true, but who cares? Lots of people are harmless, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.

Thoughts are strange creatures. They lead you from one thing to another. Sometimes you don’t know how you got from one to the next.