Katsa sat in the darkness of the Sunderan forest and understood three truths. She loved Po. She wanted Po. And she could never be anyone's but her own.

I've always been led to believe that the ultimate goal for an author is the movie deal. Now I understand that the movie deal is merely a MEANS TO A MUCH HIGHER END: NAIL POLISH.

Katsa turned to Po with tears in her eyes. 'He'll be so angry.' 'He won't stay angry forever.' 'Won't he?' she said. 'People do sometimes.' 'Do they?' he said. 'Reasonable people? I hope that's not true.' Katsa gave him a funny look, but didn't answer. Resumed hugging herself and kicking things.

It seems better to me for a child to have these skills and never use them, than not have them and one day need them," she said.

And what was it about the dark that made her question things she’d never questioned before, in the day.

You're good at love," she said simply, because it seemed to her that it was true. "I'm not so good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away." He shrugged. "I don't mind you pushing me away if it means you love me, little sister.

You’re crying.” “I’m not.” “Right,” he said mildly. “I suppose you got rained on.