If everyone could be brought low, then everyone could rise up.

He might be worried, but at least he's not upset with me. My family gets up set easily, and he got stuck helping me out. Wrong place. Wrong time. --She tried to turn her face to hide marks. The nurse told her no. --Everything is right. Right place. Right time for both of you.Are you from Jamaica? Ava asked, but she knew the answer. The woman had that terrible peace about her that some people were born with. There was no wrong. Everything could be made right.

Quiet was another kind of warning.

Ava knew the incidental betrayals of life.

It is easy to pride yourself on brains when you had both brains and beauty. Beauty was fleeting, and here was the proof. It was gone.

Only in art was cheerful condemned.

A single shoe. Only someone under a spell would lose a shoe and not turn back for it.

We are all made of glass. Snow floats around us. We are delicately made, meant to be smashed.

Maybe there was healing in running when nothing chased you.

Wherever she sought solitude, she was never alone. Suddenly that wasn't a bad thing. There was safety in numbers greater than one and sanity in knowing that everyone healed. If everyone has scars, there are two choices. Bleed to death slowly or stitch yourself together.