She accepted it from then on. Books liked her. Books wanted to look after her.
You are who you are, whether you like it or not, so why not like it?
Misfits need a place to get away, too. All that trying to fit in is exhausting.
He was the only person in the world she was tongue-tied around, and yet the only person she really wanted to talk to.
Don't you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?
He might be tall enough to see into tomorrow, but he hadn’t looked there in a long, long time. He’d forgotten how bright it was. So bright he could hardly stand it.