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I bet you Cinderella didn't get along with Prince Charming's friends. Oh sure, the knights and barons probably put up with her on account that she was pretty and had such dainty feet and all, but you should know every duchess and contess in the kingdom hated her guts.

The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightening, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust. But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the Queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman.

I know I'm not to blame for what he did. And I know, too, that I am strong inside--stronger than I ever realized.

I know you're upset, I know you're scared, but don't walk away.

I think you've got to get out whatever's hurting you through your art, so it doesn't twist you up inside.

If I want to get out of here, I have to be the one to save myself.

Calmly, slowly, she reached behind with her left hand and came up against _ yes, fabric. Fine linen, to be precise. So far, so good: she was inside a wardrobe, after all. The only problem was that this linen was oddly warm. Body warm. Beneath the tentative pressure of her palm, it seemed to be moving...With terrifying suddenness, an ungloved hand clamped roughly over her nose and mouth. A long arm pinned her arms against her sides. She was held tightly against a hard, warm surface."Hush," whispered a pair of lips pressed to her left ear. "If you scream, we are both lost.

The world is only as small as your mind makes it.

She wouldn't have died if I hadn't taught her how to fall.

The demon is crouched in the corner, between the Cheetos and the onion dip. It__ a small one, only about four feet tall: a low-level creeper. I flick my gaze over the spot like I don__ see it and open the cooler door to get a Coke.

Sir, no amount of money, no matter how vast, could induce me to stroll, perambulate, promenade, or engage in any form of locomotion with you whatsoever. Good evening.

I don't believe in monsters.""Well, Red, I think you might want to start." Pike turned and looked him in the eye. "What do you think those green things were? And what do you think is trying to smash its way in here? A pony?

A smile is hidden beneath the mustache, it crinkles the corners of his hooded eyes. __ didn__. I have other business in town and I told my friend I would attend to the matter of his son, as he could not do so himself._ __ery kind of you._ __es. I have been looking forward to it for quite some time._ Daddy__ lemonade is almost gone, he sips it carefully, turning his eyes back to the water. __ooking forward to seeing the lad or to conducting your business?_ Daddy is toying with him. __oth. You see, I had never actually met his son._ The glass rests against Daddy__ lips, unmoving. Mr. Geyer watches him closely. __ut now I have, so I can get on with my,_ he fixes his own gaze on the water, as though trying to see whatever it is that has transfixed my father, __usiness.

Lockwood didn__ speak until everything was quiet again. __ know you__e worrying about me, Luce,_ he said. __ut you really mustn__. These things happen when you__e an agent. You__e been snared by ghosts in the past, haven__ you? There was the one that made the bloody footprints, and the thing in the tunnels below the Aickmere Brothers store. But it__ fine, because I helped you then, and you__e helped me now. We__e there to help each other. If we do that, we__l get through._ Which was a lovely thing to say, and it made me feel a little warmer. I just had to hope it was true.

They forgot who she was: Something fantastic we could never explain. Someone better and bolder than every one of us. Someone to paint murals and build bridges for. Someone worth every ounce of our love. Someone powerful, but in the end not powerful enough.

Wicked eyes are not a good prospect for seminary boys. They want a gentle, soft sort of wife, not a wife who looks as though she may sprout wings and carry off the young children of the village. ~Maria "Smythe

All I know is that the fear I have been battling all night is breaking down the door of my ignorance. As my feet slam down I feel not the hard, wet asphalt but the soft Persian rug that led to the staircase in my father__ home. In the glow of lightning the dancing trees are illuminated but I see my mother in the glow of candlelight, spinning, twirling, her hair fanned out behind her. It is falling over me, saturating my thoughts, and I cannot. I cannot let it in.

This is what the Problem means,_ he went on. __his is the effect it has. Lives lost, loved ones taken before their time. And then we hide our dead behind iron walls and leave them to the thorns and ivy. We lose them twice over, Lucy. Death__ not the worst of it. We turn our faces away.