Words, for all they were flimsy and invisible, had great strength. They could be fortified as a castle wall and sharp as a foil. They could bite, slap, shock, wound. But unlike deeds, words couldn't really help you. No promise ever rescued a person; it was the carrying-through of it that brought about salvation.

I want to live," he said, "So I have to die.

I know how difficult it can be when the image you've had of something doesn't match its reality; when the friend beside you turns into a monster.

She thought of death like the seam of a hem: each time you lose someone close, it unraveled a little. You could still go along with your life, but you'd be forever tripping over something you previously took for granted.

You build a wall to keep something unwanted out … or to hold something precious in.

My brother believed in all sorts of mythical creatures: pixies, dragons, werewolves, honest men.

A lie, as you probably know, has a taste all its own. Blocky and bitter and never quite right, like when you pop a piece of fancy chocolate into your mouth expecting toffee filling and you get lemon zest instead.