The Scorpio Races

by Maggie Stiefvater

She is my mare and my best friend, and I keep waiting for something bad to happen to her, because I love her too much.

There are moments that you’ll remember for the rest of your life and there are moments that you think you’ll remember for the rest of your life, and it’s not often they turn out to be the same moments.

The sisters call me Puck instead of Kate because all three of the sisters agree that you should be called what you want to be called instead of simply falling into what you were given at birth.

Did no one tell him that pain lives in this sand, dug in and watered with our blood?

They haven’t discovered yet that it’s not the fastest who make it to race day. You only have to be the fastest of those who are left.

“I believe in the same thing they believe in,” I say, with a jerk of my chin toward town and St. Columba’s. “I just don’t believe you can find it in a building.”

“It’s easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don’t understand. Something that makes them feel strong or clever. It’s why they love the ocean.”