People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed.

Raven has lost deeply, again and again, and she, too, has buried herself. There are pieces of her scattered all over. Her heart is nestled next to a small set of bones buried beside a frozen river, which will emerge with the spring thaw, a skeleton ship rising out of the water”.

Everyone you trust, everyone you think you can count on, will eventually disappoint you.

I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.

They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.

Mary bring out your umbrella - The sun shines down on this fine, fine day But the ashes raining down forever Are going to turn your hair to gray. Mary keep your oars a-steady Sail away on the rising flood Keep your candle at the ready Red tides can't be told from blood. - "Miss Mary" (a common child's clapping game, dating from the time of the blitz), from Pattycake and Beyond: A History of Play

I screamed until my voice dried up in my throat. We all did. All of us in Ward Six, all of us forgotten, left to rot.