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You are a Witch. I am a Prince. In all the books, where there is a Witch and a Prince there is a way.
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He’ll never be good if he can’t choose to be nasty. It’s the choice that makes the good.
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And that is the last lesson of childhood: You spend all your years fighting against the injustice of big folk and their big rules until you are ready to rule yourself.
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Just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real.
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Sometimes I worry. Worrying is defined as obsessive examination of one’s own code.
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Every cat knows how to keep his owner feeding them: You may scratch and bite ninety-nine times, but the hundredth time, you must leap into a lap and press your nose to their nose. Rules are for dogs.
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Falling in love is embarrassing. It is not hardcore. It is not part of the scene.
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Love is what grown folk do to each other because the law frowns on killing.
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A house is a kind of box you put a girl in.
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It is important to announce your intentions at top volume, she thought, or your intentions will think you are ashamed of them.
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Patience is always the last ingredient in any spell, the last part in any machine, what ever your original blue prints say.
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The burnt-off connectors and shadows where Ravan once filled my spaces - those, I think, are the sensations of grief.
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I thought: this is how you make a human being. A human being is beautiful and sick. A human being glitters and starves.
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No one cared who they'd been before, or even who they were now. Sometimes it felt like they lived at the bottom of the world. People at the bottom of the world mind their business, mostly.
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The nearness of him crushed her, like being held by the sun.
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If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.
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That's how it goes - as soon as there's anything interesting in Ancient Greece, some arsehole with a magic hat comes along to murder it.
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Who knows what wild things Sleeping Beauty dreamt of while waiting to awake?
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Remember this when you are queen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I moved the earth and the water for you.
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Some switches must be flipped, and some children cannot help turning off to on and on to off, just to see what will happen.
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The grass and the rivers and the stones and women and horses and more Stars and men and clouds and birds and trees came dancing through the afterbirth of the Mare
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But we had young turnips and mustard greens in our befuddled stomach that day, and these things make bravery.
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Rich girls aren’t criminals, don’t you know? They’re just troubled, poor things.
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Shadows are where magic comes from. Your dark and dancing self, slipping behind and ahead and around, never quite looking at the sun.