But...books are so much more. Some of them are webs; you can feel your way along their threads, but just barely, into strange and dark corners. Some of them are balloons bobbing up through the sky: totally self-contained, and unreachable, but beautiful to watch. And some of them―the best ones―are doors.

And even if she isn’t—even if by some miracle, she survived the escape and has been squeezing out a living in the Wilds—she would never join forces with the resisters. She would never be violent or vengeful. Not Lena, who used to practically faint when she pricked a finger, who couldn’t even lie to a teacher about being late. She wouldn’t have the stomach for it.

He's stuck with me and I'm stuck with him. We're stuck. That's what growing up is all about, I guess.

It's the way he says my name: like music.

People need other people to feel things for them," she said. "It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.

The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.

Even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings with something small.