I can hear my brother's voice in my head. Your problem is that you're too emotional. But how can I not be emotional, Rowan? How can I not care?
In the distance I see a lighthouse. The light washes over us and continues on its rotation. This time, I don't know where the light will guide us.
Give me time" "For you, always.
There's a world out there that nobody has bothered to promise her.
She's beautiful and graceful, and she is very compassionate and loyal when you aren't responsible for the murder of her family.
There are so many of us, so many girls. The world wants us for our wombs or our bodies, or it doesn't want us at all.
I've loved you since the day I stole the atlas for you," Gabriel says, because he thinks I'm asleep.
To die trying would be better than to die without purpose.
I think he's beginning to understand, and understanding is a horrible thing.
Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
Even things that aren't broken can be fixed.
And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.
Poor kid,' Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. 'She doesn't even understand what kind of place this is.
Don't forget how you got here. Don't Forget.
He looks at me, and I don't know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she's not here with us now, in this room. It's just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.
We figure out what death means when we're born, practically, and we live our whole lives in some kind of weird denial about it.
On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.
Gabriel's voice can reach me anywhere. Even in a hurricane.
Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.
Cure" is one of the most precious words in the English language. It's a short word. A clean and simple word. But it isn't so easy a thing as it sounds. There are questions like: How will this affect us in ten years? In twenty? What will it do to our children? Our children's children?
Do you know what my father used to say?" I ask her. "He used to say that songs had a heart. A crescendo that can make all your blood rush from your head to your toes.
Living in a place like this, she must have learned how to see all the monsters that can hide a person.
Once upon a time there were two parents, two children, and a brick house with lilies in the yard. The parents died, the lilies wilted. One child disappeared. Then the other." Pg 225
It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
Kettle thingies. Yum.
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