The Desolations of Devil's Acre (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #6)

by Ransom Riggs

Desperation could make good people do bad things . . . and morally ambivalent people do really bad things.

How many people would spend their lives among shades and ghosts, were they able? Every parent who’d lost a child, every lover who’d lost a mate: If they had the choice, wouldn’t most do the same? We’re all riddled with holes, and there were days when I would’ve done anything to patch mine, if just for a while.

“Just because no one remembers your name doesn’t mean your life wasn’t worth something.”

We were not superheroes. We were not born fighters, but had been forced into the role. We were simply peculiar.

“Nothing is dead: men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new and strange disguise.”