Quotes from Laura Ruby

All five of them were short and bowlegged, making them look like a chorus line of wishbones.

The two of them hiding behind their mother tongues as if there was no way to bridge the gap.

She was sorry she hadn't been braver when she'd had the chance.

Who are you today?" her mom asked. "Isn't it obvious?" "Not to anyone over the age of seven." "I'm a ballerina-spy-deathmetalhead." "Lovely," said her mother.

Thinking that you can't protect the ones you love, you have to hope they're smart enough to save themselves, And hope, well. Who had any of that to spare?

Because we don't have your typical gaps around here. Not gaps made of rocks or mountains. We have gaps in the world. In the space of things. So many places to lose yourself, if you believe that they're there. You can slip into the gap and never find your way out. Or maybe you don't want to find your way out.

Frankie wouldn't always let herself remember these things. Most of the time, she didn't think about them at all. Yet she had her quiet days, her pensive ones, those days when she dug through her memories, trying to find the truth at the bottom of them. As if the truth were a jewel yo could unearth and hold i your hand, as if the truth wasn't more like something you'd find under a rock, gray and faceless and squirming away from the light.

Despite the pain and the blood, Roza took in the icy-eyed man's expression of frozen, stony horror and reveled in it, delighted in it. It was delicious, his horror. She wanted to see it up close. She wanted to eat it.

THE SUN TOUCHED HER FACE LIKE THE SOFTEST CARESS.

Why does the world demand girls to be beautiful, but when they are, punish them for it? Why does it punish girls either way? Why does the world want girls to be sorry, some even more than others? Sorry, sorrier, sorriest.

He had been in this city for barely a fortnight and had concluded it was teeming with ruffians, murderers, and thieves. That he himself was a murderer and a thief was beside the point.

You are spiky spring Humming Summer, wings that beat Back ghosts of winter.

the church had three burial sites—the churchyard at Wall Street and Broadway, the Trinity Church

She flew higher and higher into the plush and generous darkness, the long forgiving night, until she slipped through a star, a doorway, and heaven welcomed her in.

Frankie had no idea that too many people believed you could be from a right place or a wrong one.

And though Finn was tall, his arms and legs ropey with farm muscle, the Rudes were wider and stronger, and there were about four and a half too many of them.

Frankie sat there, oblivious to them all, the pastel warm between her fingers, thinking about the fact that Sam knew her name, thinking about the way his lower lip curled under his teeth to pronounce it, thinking about his lips and teeth and hair and bones and all the other truths of a body that seem so mundane when that body is yours, and so fascinating when that body belongs to someone else.

Also, the city did sleep, but it slept the way a cat does, eyes half open, watchful, ready to spring at the first sign of fun, or danger.

She read and reread all kinds of books for all kinds of reasons, complicated reasons.

But one must find reasons to laugh anyway, especially when nothing is funny. Sometimes joy is the only defense you have, and your only weapon. Remember that.

That if she could choose, Sister Bert would dive into one of those books and never come back out again.

You will see the world. You will have love affairs with boys who see past a pretty face. You will be strong. You will call and tell me all about it. And then I will crow to the neighbors and make them all jealous.

There will be boys who will tell you you're beautiful, but only a few will see you.

Lots of people thought he was making jokes when he wasn't and didn't realize he was making jokes when he was. It was irritating.