Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.

I'm suddenly finding it hard to know the difference between nightmares and consciousness.

Kettle thingies. Yum.

There's a world out there that nobody has bothered to promise her.

We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.

There is a silence so great that I can hear the ice crystals cracking and falling from eyelashes of girls who will never blink again.

I want to make a world more magical than my own. I don't care if it makes sense, I don't care if it's ridiculed or if, rather than a neat round planet that goes around forever, it ends with a cliff that falls off into nothing. I want to have my eyes wide open, and I want to see this room and at the same time, not this room.