Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Felicity and Ann hunched over their ornaments as if they were fascinating relics from an archaeological dig. I note that their shoulders are trembling, and I realize that they are fighting laughter over my terrible plight. There's friendship for you.

I'm like everyone else in this stupid, bloody, amazing world. I'm flawed. Impossibly so. But hopeful. I'm still me.

What do you feel? I’ve never been asked this question once. None of us has. We aren’t supposed to feel. We’re British.

I am for hockey. I find I should like to hit something with a stick.
-Gemma Doyle Trilogy

I'm going to eviscerate you and leave your organs on a pike in the yard as a warning to those who wear large jewelry.

In each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We’ve got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there is a lot of grey to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.