Alice (The Chronicles of Alice, #1)

by Christina Henry

I cannot spend the remainder of my life as a moth beating its wings against a jar.

If you go chasing your freedom your fate will only follow you there, and force you back.

“Start by holding your head high,” Hatcher said. “You’re only a mouse if you let them make you one.”

If you let the grief in, it might consume you.

Alice realize how much of life was full of empty stuff, objects longed for because the hope of them made your small life seem bigger, better, brighter.

There was comfort in ignorance, in thinking the world a certain way and not knowing any different.