Mary

“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.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

“The whole world had given up on love anyway and clung instead to its malformed cousins: lust, narcissism, self-interest.”
― Leslye Walton, The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender

“You like this place?"

"Of course I do. It has books in it.”
― Margaret Rogerson, Sorcery of Thorns

“Comfort was the drug she hadn’t understood until it was too late and she was hooked on cups of tea and book-lined shelves, nights uninterrupted by the wail of sirens and the ceaseless churning of helicopters overhead.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Hell Bent