Moon Over Manifest: (Newbery Medal Winner)

by Clare Vanderpool

My one consolation was that I knew these kids. Even if they didn’t know me. Kids are universals too, in a way.

Memories were like sunshine. They warmed you up and left a pleasant glow, but you couldn’t hold them.

Maybe the world wasn’t made of universals that could be summed up in neat little packages. Maybe there were just people. People who were tired and hurt and lonely and kind in their own way and their own time.

there is such a thing as a universal—and I wasn’t ready to throw all of mine out the window—it’s that there is power in a story. And if someone pays you such a kindness as to make up a tale so you’ll enjoy a gingersnap, you go along with that story and enjoy every last bite.

“Who would dream that one can love without being crushed under the weight of it?” Hot tears burned in my eyes. Being loved could be crushing too.

But a diviner’s jewelry jangles. A nun’s rosary beads rattle. It’s a universal.