He taught me that the whole world was a holy place. That’s why he loved our old farm, loved the dirt under his feet. Everything was magic to him.

For the first time he understood what he had always been taught: The world was made of music.

Rogue turned to her, his face no longer quite so hard. A curl of smoke rose from the pistol in his hand. Rotten apples fell from the tree, splatting at her feet. “Poor little girlie,” he said, and there did seem to be potty in his voice. “I told you you’d get your fingers bit.

If I am to have a life of sorrows, I will not let them conquer me.

Why did knowing grief himself not make him better at knowing how to help?

You would rather die than be a governess? It’s not prostitution, for heaven’s sake!” Charlotte gaped, and Emily, pale and stricken as she was, stifled a giggle. “I shudder to think where you learned of such things,” Charlotte said, standing. “The Bible,” Anne snapped. “Allow me to recommend it to you.” Good.

We are so isolated here in Haworth, with no one of our own age to befriend, and the men and women of Verdopolis are real, in a way. It wouldn’t seem strange to me if... Someone... Might even fall in love with one of them.

She reminded him of a snowcat – a beautiful, dangerous thing from a cold, high place.

The present catches up to the future with alarming speed – I had forgotten that.

Every once in a while it’s as if my mind turns a corner, and then I can see forever. I love that feeling.