It was unfair that people could pretend to be one thing when they were really something else. That they would get you on their side and then do nothing but fail, and fail, and fail again. People should come with warnings, like cigarette packs: involvement would kill you over time.

But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.

I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.

You must hurt, or be hurt.

We can never understand. We can only try, fumbling our way through the tunneled places, reaching for light.

I thought the Invalids were beasts; I thought they would rip me apart. But these people saved me, and gave me the softest place to sleep, and nursed me back to health, and haven't asked for anything in return. The animals are on the other side of the fence: monsters wearing uniforms. They speak softly, and tell lies, and smile as they're slitting your throat.

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