Howl's Moving Castle (Howl's Castle Book 1)

by Diana Wynne Jones

She read a great deal, and very soon realized how little chance she had of an interesting future.

It was odd. As a girl, Sophie would have shriveled with embarrassment at the way she was behaving. As an old woman, she did not mind what she did or said. She found that a great relief.

Anyway, Sophie’s experience told her that tantrums are seldom about the thing they appear to be about.

“The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he’s really in love, and not before.”

It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil.

“I’m going to bed, where I may die.” He tottered piteously to the stairs. “Bury me beside Mrs. Pentstemmon,” he croaked as he went up them to bed.

So dramatic!

“I’m dying of boredom,” Howl said pathetically. “Or maybe just dying.”

I find this so dramatic but so cute.

“Who, me?” said Howl. “I assure you, my friends, I am cone sold stober.”

Cute.

“And you’re too nice,” he added, above the lap-lap of the water and the patter of sand on the water-lily leaves. “I was relying on you being too jealous to let that demon near the place.”

“I’ve never seen why people put such value on things being natural,” Howl said, and Sophie knew then that he was scarcely changed at all.