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They thought I only had a life that I lived here, but I had found other possibilities every time I read a book.
In every fairy tale the girl who is saved is the one who rescues herself.
In a place where books were banned there could be no personal freedom, no hope, and no dreams for the future.
Mia wished she was in that place right now, in the field where sunflowers grew, where it might be possible to be who you wished to be and you could read books all day long and no one would say a word about it. A place where no one would punish you for being who you were.
“You do not belong to him,” Constance said firmly. “You belong to yourself.”
The best things that happened to you in life were often a complete surprise.
Some people are who you think they are. Some people hide the wolf inside of them, but you can hear them howl.
“You’re entitled to your grief, Mia.”
“You’re you no matter what,”
“Nobody ever thinks it will happen,” Sarah replied. “Real life is unbelievable. Souls are snatched away from us, flesh and blood turn to dust, people you love betray you, men go to war over nothing. It’s all preposterous. That’s why we have novels. To make sense of things.”
People whispered that Constance had changed countless lives, as librarians often did,
and in truth, once begun, the writing seemed to possess him, as if it was real life, and the life he led at home was the dream.
Elizabeth had never believed in witches; she assumed men had created such figures out of their twisted dreams and their fear of a woman’s innate power.
Self-pity from a man was something she could not abide, not when she had a woman’s issues to deal with.
“Who on earth is happy?”
once a girl walked into a library she could never be controlled again.
Evil was predictable; it cloaked itself in righteousness, convinced its enemies must be punished.
