Witches don’t look like anything. Witches are. Witches do.

A poem doesn’t come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means.

You mind your tongue!” “Oh, I do,” I said. “I sharpen it every evening on your name.

Father sighed. “Please spare me these arguments of yours.” “Whose arguments should I use?

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.

Let’s hope she’s like the others, who look only at the surface. Let’s hope she’d never think that a girl with black-velvet eyes and cut-glass cheekbones could be a witch.

The boy shall have a proper beating,' said Cecil. 'But I beat him already,' I said, 'and don't tell me I didn't do it properly. I'm touchy about these things.