You set fire to my house, killed my family, and ate my dog. But steal my boyfriend? That's a step too far.

Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?

People have a habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept.

We create the illusions we need to go on. And one day, when they no longer dazzle or comfort, we tear them down, brick by glittering brick, until we are left with nothing but the bright light of honesty. The light is liberating. Necessary. Terrifying. We stand naked and emptied before it. And when it is too much for our eyes to take, we build a new illusion to shield us from its relentless truth.

The man in the shop peered disapprovingly at Evie through the glass. She pumped her arms and legs up and down in imitation of a marching band, gave the man a salute, and continued her meandering walk to the museum.

Libraries are the torch of the world, illuminating the path when it feels too dark to see. We mustn't allow that torch to be extinguished.

What you want can be yours. But you must first know what it is you want.