Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

Living in a place like this, she must have learned how to see all the monsters that can hide a person.

I don't know if it was love or an illusion. I don't know if there's ever a way to be certain.

Time was our very first king. We all live our lives to the aggressive ticking of the clock. We don't question that our lives are a grid of seconds; even our pulses oblige. No succeeding king can hope to hold this kind of power.

Humans are the absolute worst thing to happen to this planet.

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.

I think she's brave. I think that nobody has ever believed what she could be capable of. All her life, nobody was listening.