And all was well.
I was the Count of Monte Cristo, who would one day return from the terrible prison island to take revenge on all those who had sent him there. I was Napoléon, banished to die a lonely death on Saint Helena. I was Harry, locked up under the Dursleys’ staircase.
I woke up and knew he was gone. Straightaway I knew he was gone. When you love somebody you know these things. David Almond, Skellig
The stars shone down on her like flowers made of light, and their beauty hurt her weary heart.
The Fairy looked at the broken glass around her feet. Her shattered cage. And the one who’d put her in it was far, far away. But, no, she had caged herself.
Nothing was more cruel than a heart made of flesh and blood, because it knew what gives pain.
No. Nothing could make it easier. You lost what you loved. That was death, here as well as there.
Mortimer!” Orpheus produced a derisive smile, although with some difficulty. “Is your head buried so deep in your wine jug that you don’t know what’s going on in this world of yours? He’s not doing any reading now. The bookbinder prefers to play the outlaw these days – the role you created especially for him.
It was far easier to believe in unhappiness than in happiness.
Words are immortal -until someone comes along and burns them.