When the dead do walk seek water's run, for this the Dead will always shun. Swift river's best or broadest lake to ward the dead and have and make. If water fails thee, fire's thy friend, if neither guards it will be thy end.

Since being a prisoner was a definite improvement over being dead, which was what she thought was going to happen when the Loundergs had attacked, Suzy was quite cheerful.

Being published is not a necessary validation or a path everyone wants to take with their work. Writing—and finishing—a novel is a great thing in itself, whether or not the book is published, or becomes widely-read or not.

Fish and fowl, warm sun and shady trees, the field mice in the wheat, under the cool light of the moon.

Blood trickled down his chin as he was hauled up onto his knees, the golden rope securing his arms behind him and his ankles together. Arthur looked up and saw the fizzing sparkling crown coming down. I’m Arthur Penhaligon, he thought desperately... The crown was wedged tightly upon his head- and Arthur fell silently screaming into darkness.

There is always a choice, even if the alternatives don't appear to be equal.

A Kiss," said Mogget sleepily. "Actually, just a breath would do. But you have to start kissing someone sometime, I suppose." "A breath?" she asked. She didn't want to kiss just any wooden man. He looked nice enough, but he might not be like his looks. A kiss seemed too forward.