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

by Ransom Riggs

“As long as we’re dreaming, I’d like to talk to Jesus Christ and Mahatma Gandhi,” said Horace.

“I’d like to hear your pep talk,” Bronwyn said. Miss Hawksbill cleared her throat. “‘Death comes for us all,’” she began in a loud voice. Bronwyn grimaced. “Never mind, I think I’d prefer some quiet.”

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.”

Tis better to have fought and lost, than never to have fought at all,’”

“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.”

In the end, our real home had always been one another. And a real home was all I’d ever wanted.