But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before.

For a while she considered being ill, but she changed her mind.

Before we left, Grandmother talked a lot about the arctic night we would fly through. 'Isn't it a mystical word, "arctic"? Pure and quite hard. And meridians. Isn't that pretty? We're going to fly along them, faster than the light can follow us... Time won't be able to catch us.

Maybe my passion is nothing special, but at least it's mine.

I need to write down my observations. Even the tiniest ones; they're the most important.

Storms probably exist only because after them we can have a sunrise.

I mean, anyone can let Danger out but the really clever thing is finding somewhere for it to go afterwards.