Phaedra of Alonso’s death was a never-ending pain that gnawed at his insides. It made him a prisoner in his own cottage.

I miss the Stella girls telling me what I am. That I'm sweet and placid and accommodating and loyal and nonthreatening and good to have around. And Mia. I want her to say, "Frankie, you're silly, you're lazy, you're talented, you're passionate, you're restrained, you're blossoming, you're contrary." I want to be an adjective again. But I'm a noun. A nothing. A nobody. A no one.

You list the dead. You tell the stories of the past. You write about the catastrophes and the massacres. What about the living, Finnikin? Who honors them?

I fear that I will do something to bring harm to those I love," Froi said. "So I follow their rules to ensure that I won't." "But what if you bring harm or fail to protect those you don't know? Or don't love? Will you care as much?" "Probably not." "Then choose another bond. One written by yourself. Because it is what you do for strangers that counts in the end.

Those full of fear were the most dangerous of people.

Woman, I’m trying to fight here! Or has that escaped your attention?

Josie, life is not a Mills and Boon book. People fall out of love. People disappoint other people and they find it very hard to forgive.