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“Follow your dreams, Bailey,” she says. “Be they Harvard or something else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone’s dream once, himself.
Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars.
In his dreams, he is a knight on horseback, carrying a silver sword, and it does not really seem that strange after all.
“I have spent a great deal of my life struggling to keep myself in control,” Celia says, leaning her head against his shoulder. “To know myself inside and out, everything kept
in perfect order. I lose that when I’m with you. That frightens me, and—” “I don’t want you to be frightened,” Marco interrupts. “It frightens me how much I like it,” Celia finishes, turning her face back to his. “How tempting it is to lose myself in you. To let go. To let you keep me from breaking chandeliers rather than constantly worrying about it, myself.”
“The victor is the one left standing after the other can no longer endure,”
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’”
“I apologize for not living up to your absurd expectations, Papa. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
In response, she kisses him the way he once kissed her in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
As though they are the only two people in the world.
Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl.
The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.”
