On the outside, grief was expressed in judders, faltering and unsure, but inside it felt as constant as breathing.

Some people are happy with treasures and wide oceans. Some people are happy with a single stone. It doesn’t matter what others want if it’s not what you want.

Our ghosts make us who we are. When we do not like our ghosts, we do not like ourselves. If no one ever died, maybe we would never learn what it meant to miss them. Maybe then we would not learn how to live a life that would be missed.

Why would you think that I would only like you when you’re nice? I like you like this,’ she said, ’and I like you not like this, and I like you every way you can possibly be.

I’ve thought and thought, but there’s no other way to give you the truth except to hide it in a story and let you find your own way inside. All stories contain a truth if you look hard enough – but it might not be a good truth.

What’s the use of a clown who doesn’t subvert?

When people are cruel it’s often said that they have no heart, only a cold space or lump of ice in their chest. This was never true of Avalon. She had no heart, everyone knew, but there was nothing cold about her. In her chest burned an enormous coal, white-hot, brighter than the North Star. North knew the truth about Avalon: she was made of fire, and she would burn them all.

Maybe that’s when we see the truth of things, when all the beauty is stripped away.

Is it really a choice when we have no other option?

But life is not a fairy tale. It’s brighter and darker, longer and briefer, duller and more magical. It’s full of contradictions, but one thing it’s not is neat.