“Some loves come with an expiration date, like all things that are perishable this kind of loves rot.”

Knowledge after all is a dark art, full to the brim with liberty, a trembling, malleable power.

People are going to betray you the way Judas betrayed Jesus, the way Brutus betrayed Caesar, and you will love them anyway.

Grief makes unlikely warriors out of us all.

These are girls made of dark lace and witchcraft and a little bit of vice.

But the universe never promised you this would be easy. After all, you are the hero here.

Tell them all what they tried to kill came back. Tell them all that I have come home.

You are still the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told.

A clever woman is more lethal than a freshly crafted magic wand, and that is why she is fear.

Ghosts of the person you used to be are so proud of who you are, they live on inside you applauding you for living on despite your scars.

A story is no small thing.

Fill your life with women that empower you, that help you believe in your magic and aid them to believe in their own exceptional power and their incredible magic too. Women that believe in each other can survive anything. Women who believe in each other create armies that will win kingdoms and wars.

Your body is not a first aid kit for broken people and damaged souls and hearts that are too tired to fix themselves.

You are half fairytale, half girl.

How do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen your soul?

We have all taken turns being Red Riding Hood and we have all been the wolf.

Remember, there are beginnings in endings, through destruction there comes life.

Wherever it lies, under earth or over earth, the body will always rot.

The Deads-men, the Deadmen, the Undeads-men, the Undeadmen, the Rots, the Rotters, the Dirts, the Dirty Ones, the Grayboys, the Eaten Brains, the Eating Brains, the Mersey Beaters, the Mersey Beaten, the Bloodless, the Graves, the Headstones, and the Liverpools of Blood.

What they have forgotten they have forgotten: what they meant to do instead of fall is not in earth or time recoverable the fossils of intention, the shapes of rot.

In life you are either growing or rotting. You’re moving forward or backwards; there is no standing still.

I asked god, “why do we sin?” God replied, “The roses in the garden smell delightfully, but in your vase, they rot, just like people in conditions that don’t belong to them.”