The House in the Cerulean Sea (Cerulean Chronicles, #1)

by T.J. Klune

He couldn’t believe it was only Wednesday. And it was made worse when he realized it was actually Tuesday.

“Sounds like quite the existential crisis. Perhaps consider having it somewhere else.”

“He’s asking you for a coin,” Talia said, as if it were obvious. “A … coin?” “For his hoard,” Talia

“It’s the little things. Little treasures we find without knowing their origin. And they come when we least expect them. It’s beautiful, when you think about it.

“Mr. Baker,” Lucy said sweetly. “Can I get you something to drink? Juice, perhaps? Tea?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The blood of a baby born in a cemetery under a full moon?”

Because even the bravest of us can still be afraid sometimes, so long as we don’t let our fear become all we know.”

And Lucy, we talked about the locust plague. That’s only to be done under direct supervision.

“What’s wrong with your size?” Talia asked. He flushed. “There’s too much of it.” She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being round.”

“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”

“I don’t have enough,” she whispered. “And we can’t push her down and steal it, right? Because that’s wrong.” “We absolutely cannot push her down

Helen scoffed. “A home isn’t always the house we live in. It’s also the people we choose to surround ourselves with. You may not live on the island, but you can’t tell me it’s not your home. Your bubble, Mr. Baker. It’s been popped. Why would you allow it to grow around you again?”

I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have magic.” “You do, Mr. Baker. Arthur told me that there can be magic in the ordinary.”