Quotes from Libba Bray

It's funny. I used to feel that I wouldn't care if I died. I just kept throwing myself at life, hoping I'd hit a bull's-eye eventually. I thought death would be a relief from all that feeling. A relief not to have all that pain. Not to care so much,' Evie said.

She would live every day fully. She was not the same girl she'd been nearly a year ago. She would never see things so blithely again. Even now, as Evie watched the parade and the people alight with pride and joy, she knew how easily that same crowd could become angry. The things that divided them. The things that brought them together, too. They couldn't afford to become complacent.

When the world moves forward too fast for some people, they try to pull us all back with their fear

Looking for truth makes a man hafta look at himself along the way.

What do I want? Why is that simple question - four little words - so impossible to answer?

Books are, at their heart, dangerous. Yes, dangerous. Because they challenge us: our prejudices, our blind spots. They open us to new ideas, new ways of seeing. They make us hurt in all the right ways. They can push down the barricades of 'them' & widen the circle of 'us.

Robot. Is. Sad. Because silly bitch. Will. Not. Dance.

You are unique, and this is a beautiful, beautiful thing, grasshopper.

Yes, after all, if I were to join you, I might enjoy myself, and wouldn't that be a shame? Please, don't spare me another thought.

Blood is thicker than water. That's what they say. But in truth, most things are.

It keeps her purity vacum-sealed to preserve its freshness for her future husband.

It is the taste of forgetting. Of sleep and dreams with no waking. Never to long or yearn, to struggle or hurt or love or desire ever again. And I understand that this is what it truly means to lose your soul.

Only ninnies go to Penny's.

I don't want to have this conversation. It's sunny out. There's bacon downstairs.

I've the run of the place, and so i spend some time exploring, climbing steep stairs into thin turrets whose windows give me a bird's-eye view of the land surrounding Spence. I flit past locked doors and dark, paneled rooms that seem more like museum exhibits than living, breathing places. I wander until it is dark and past the time when I should be in bed, not that I think anyone shall be searching for me.

Even Evie believed in something, that something being Evie a lot of the time.

Yes, fine, I say, feeling dead inside. They don't know what they're in for at Spence, getting me, a ghost of a girl who'll nod and smile and take her tea who isn't really here.

Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.

Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.

Will looked at Evie funny. Advertising? Yes. You've heard of it, haven't you? Swell modern invention. It lets people know about something they need. Soap, lipstick, radios—or your museum, for instance. We could start with a catchy slogan, like, 'The Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult—we've got the spirit!

If I have to look through one more of these, I'm throwing myself off that balcony," he moaned. "Let me know if you need help," Jericho said.

What I can't figure out is why you gotta make yourself crackers trying to be somebody you can't ever be instead of just letting yourself be the one and only Evie O'Neill.

Our days are numbered in the book of days, Most High, Gorgon murmurs as the garden comes once more into view. That is what gives them sweetness and purpose.

Can we talk about the miracle that is the Small World ride? It's like an acid trip drag show.