In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

They would always be a family, but if she'd learned anything in the past few weeks it was that a family wasn't a static thing. There were always changes going on. Like with continents, sometimes the changes were invisible and underground, and sometimes they were explosive and deadly. The trick was to keep your balance. You couldn't control the direction of your family any more than you could stop the continental shelf from breaking apart. All you could do was hold on for the ride.

It was the Magic Hour, the moment in time when every leaf and blade of grass seemed to separate, when sunlight, burnished by the rain and softened by the coming night, gave the world an impossibly beautiful glow.

To make real friends you have to put yourself out there. Sometimes people will let you down, but you can't let that stop you. If you get hurt, you just pick yourself up, dust off your feelings, and try again.

Promises were a lot like impressions. The second one didn't count for much.

If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.

Nothing was easier to shatter than the fragile shield of an idealist.