The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

by V.E. Schwab

“I do not want to belong to someone else,” she says with sudden vehemence. The words are a door flung wide, and now the rest pour out of her. “I do not want to belong to anyone but myself. I want to be free. Free to live, and to find my own way, to love, or to be alone, but at least it is my choice, and I am so tired of not having choices, so scared of the years rushing past beneath my feet. I do not want to die as I’ve lived, which is no life at all. I—”

“You ask for time without limit. You want freedom without rule. You want to be untethered. You want to live exactly as you please.” “Yes,” says Adeline,

Palimpsest.

a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain. something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.

whatever you choose to do, it means choosing not to do a hundred other things,

That is the thing about living in the present, and only the present, it is a run-on sentence. And Henry was a perfect pause in the story. A chance to catch her breath. She does not know if it was love, or simply a reprieve. If contentment can compete with passion, if warmth will ever be as strong as heat.