Old things are better than new things, because they've got stories in them, Ethan.
There is a point. I don't know what it is, but everything I've had, and everything I've lost, and everything I felt—it meant something.
Nothing was ever how you wanted it to be. Not anymore. Not for me.
"Well? Is it true? Did she?" "Did she what?" "You know. Fall outta the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down?"
It's crazy what you see if you aren't really looking.
High school sucked. It was a universal truth, and whoever said these were supposed to be the best years of your life was probably drunk or delusional.
What we had went so much deeper than a kiss. When we were together, she turned me completely inside out. It didn't matter if we were dead or alive. We could never be kept apart. There were some things more powerful than worlds or universes. She was my world, as much as I was hers. What we had, we knew. The poems are all wrong. It's a bang, a really big bang. Not a whimper. And sometimes gold can stay. Anybody who's ever been in love can tell you that.
Mortals. I envy you. You think you can change things. Stop the universe. Undo what was done long before you came along. You are such beautiful creatures.
I smiled at her, but she was already lost in thought, looking around the library as if it held all the answers to all our problems.
My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper. She lived.
You need help, and that's what books are for.
Arelia looked up at Macon. "It's not the house that protects her. It's the boy. I've never seen anything like it. No Caster can come between them.
The beginning of a book is always the hardest part for me. I'm a Chapter 3 kind of writer, which means I naturally start at Chapter 3.
Obviously the whole Wayward thing hasn't been explained to you properly. You don't have any superpowers. You can't leap over tall buildings in a single bound or fight Dark Casters with your magic cat. Basically, you're a glorified tour guide who's no better equipped to face a bunch of Dark Casters than Mary P. over here -Ridley
Writing a book is hard. It turns out, writing a second book is twice as hard.
It wasn't about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beat-up sneakers. It wasn't about what she said in class--usually something no one else would've thought of, and if they had, something they wouldn't have dared to say. It wasn't that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious. It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn't.
No, books. She would have maybe twenty going at a time, lying all over our house--on the kitchen table, by her bed, the bathroom, our car, her bags, a little stack at the edge of each stair. And she'd use anything she could find for a bookmark. My missing sock, an apple core, her reading glasses, another book, a fork.
Lena made a face. She almost never wore makeup; she didn't have to. "You know, it's not like we all sign a contract with Maybelline when we turn thirteen.
Sharpie? A mischievous smile spread across her face. I thought you said you couldn't control your powers. Beginner's luck.
falling not flying one lost muddy shoe like the lost worlds between me and you
we love what we love and who we love who we love and why we love why we love and find a falling shoelace knotted and strung between the fingers of strangers
Maybe all crows were just creepy.
Even when I didn't know anything else about where I was or what I was supposed to be doing. You were my Wayward, even then. Everything always brought me back to you. Everything.
I may have been a Wayward, but my way was full of people who loved me. They were the only way I knew
Lies, lies are the place where darkness grows.
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