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A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.
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He'll burn you down like wax if you let him. You'll think it's love, while he dines on your heart. And maybe it will be. But he's so hungry, he'll eat you all in one sitting, and you'll be in his belly, and what will you do then?
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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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Snow White swallows that like a sword. She lets the hammer click back into place. Everything in her that's not nailed down is shaking loose.
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All children are required to attend School, which is like a party to which everyone forgot to bring punch, or hats, or fiddles, and none of the games have good prizes.
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You take sides if your smart. Offer up your loyalty cause it's all you've got to trade. Trouble is, most times, when you're looking to sell your soul, nobody's buying. - Radiance
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Where there's a labyrinth, there's a minotaur, and vice versa! I can't imagine a decent maze that would be caught dead without a minotaur.
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The Land of Parents is strange and full of peril.
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But luck can be spent, like money; and lost, like a memory; and wasted, like a life.
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Whenever one does extraordinary things, someone is bound to try to repeat them for themselves. It's the way of the world.
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We’ve made too many movies, you and I. Or too few. Always too few. Too many to have any meaning, too few to say what we meant.
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It takes energy for new roads to diverge in new woods, and no energy is spent with complete efficiency, without waste. Where wood has burned, there will be ash. The waste product of the constantly dividing multiverse is a fine, drifting mist of regret, and no wormhole has ever starved.
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The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.
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"I do believe everyone in Fairyland-Below is royalty!" September exclaimed. "Queens and Princes and Vicereines and Emperors - it's like visiting Europe!
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Check your pockets, my chimney-child.
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Everything in the world, it turns out, is escapable except economy.
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Anything is a poem if you say it often enough.
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The Green Wind frowned into his brambly beard. “All little girls are terrible,” he admitted finally, “but the Marquess, at least, has a very fine hat."
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I do not want to muddle about with Politicks, and whenever two Folk of any sort are in a room together there are always Politicks to be muddled in.
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Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.
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Perhaps memory is a thing that everyone involved has to work at, like stitching up a big quilt out of everything that ever happened to you.
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"Remember this when you are queen," she breathed. "I told you my secrets."
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'All little girls are terrible,' he admitted finally. 'but the Marquess, at least, has a very fine hat'
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Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.