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the moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.
twilight, the hour of sorrow,
The aunts tried to encourage her not to be so good. Goodness, in their opinion, was not a virtue but merely spinelessness and fear disguised as humility.
Owens women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.
on the night she eloped anything seemed possible, even happiness.
sometimes the right thing felt all wrong until it was over and done with.
if you pretend long enough there’s always the possibility that you’ll become an automaton.
In her opinion, everything goes wrong if you give it enough time.
