Nothing was easy, and sometimes she failed, and sometimes she thought that the fairy stories were right, that there must indeed be easier ways of living happily ever after; but defeat is a poor ending to any tale, so she kept trying.

Strange how love coexists with hate, how they render eachother mute, how the swilling of them together makes a new and softer, sympathetic thing.

A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds.

How does one craft happiness out of something as important, as complicated, as unrepeatable and as easily damaged as life?

Let me fly, let me see things that are hidden from other eyes.

A small town has as many eyes as a fly

You're not supposed to have iron bars around you - no one is supposed to have that. You're supposed to fall down hills and get lonely, and find your own food and get wet when it rains. That's what happens when you're alive.