That is what happens when a person lives alone for so long - no one else can change their ways. 
But love is love, and love is compulsion. I must, and I do. 
Thing is, just because you make a body shiver don't make it yours. 
Today I shall be a wicked murderous tyrant and crush something nice under my heel. 
They climbed their ladders to wheedle and prune the trees into holiness 
He missed youlike a fish in a bowl
misses the open sea.
But it is difficult for men to disbelieve a woman who insists that she wishes to serve them, and he nodded assent. 
Narrators may go where they please. 
Love is what grown folk do to each other because the law frowns on killing. I 
In his own country, Death can be kind. But of an end 
Men die. It's practically what they're for. 
if enough lost things band together, even in the darkest depths, they aren't really lost at all anymore. 
I think I look a little like a pumpkin," whispered September, secretly delighted. "I'm all green and orange. 
A library is never complete. That's the joy of it. We are always seeking one more book to add to our collection. 
Dreams keep the heart alive. 
Everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever, the beginning and the end and the denouement and the remaindering. 
Things that are unsightly: birthmarks, infidelity, strangers in one's kitchen. Too much sunlight. Stitches. Missing teeth. Overlong guests. 
We hold demonstrations and civil wars when inequities are discovered. 
It tasted like a shade of white near blue; it tasted like the idea of pearls; it tasted like a memory nearly grasped but lost at the last moment. 
I perceive that you have a cruel heart, my child. It lies within your breast like a smoldering blade, hissing steam at me. 
Wife sounded like something exciting, something daring, something a bit scoundrelly, like pirate or bandit. And they were bandits, of course. 
People are clocks who think they wind themselves. 
Over in the refrigerated section hang lies told so long ago and so often that they turned into the truth and get taught in history books. 
Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief. 
Why should I care about you first kiss,' he said. 'You can kiss anyone you like. But sometimes if you wanted to kiss me, that would be all right, too. 
Anyway, nobody bothers with real beginnings anymore. We stopped making up stories about the creation of the world ages ago. 
No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story. 
We are a Body of contradiction, flesh-full and fleshless. 
She was ... unhappy. It was part of her, you could not separate her from it. She was sad the way a horse is strong or a bird flies. 
Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing. 
You're not in love if you keep your own heart bricked up behind your bones. You're only playing. 
But I've brought you to the snow, and the snow is the beginning and the end of everything, everyone knows that. I 
A map shows maybes. 
It's a law, a law of the universe. Like gravity or stupidity or how a minor chord always sounds sad. 
They were all very young, really, too young for all they had seen, but too old not to have seen it. 
Life is like that. Death sweeps it away. That's what death is for. That's why they keep telling this story. It's the only story. 
It is best in the end to let women see to their own vengeance. 
I know real dirt looks nothing like this. Nothing like soft blood flecked with black bone. 
Snow White gets a Social Security card. She gets a job building houses out in California. Picks oranges. 
The burnt-off connectors and shadows where Ravan once filled my spaces - those, I think, are the sensations of grief. 
I thought: this is how you make a human being. A human being is beautiful and sick. A human being glitters and starves. 
You will live as you live in any world ... With difficulty, and grief. 
This is my heart - carry it with you. I will dream of you in the dark, and you will taste it in my tea, and feel it in my shoes. 
Didn't you know? All stepmothers are witches. It is our compensation for remaining forever an intruder in another woman's house. 
He ran like if he kept running he could escape the last thousand years. 
The Sirens flicked their wings at the wall, inscribing it with their own blue ink: Even in penance is beauty; blessed are all the ocean's drowned! 
What happens to anything beautiful? Viy ate it up. 
That's your first hint that something's alive. It says no. 
Everything good in the world has feathers and wings and claws. 
You have to have the right sort of stone. Peridot for mothers, girasol for lovers, sapphire for sadness, and garnet for joy. 
Time is no one's friendtime has no social niceties and holds the door for nobody nowhere. But I hold the door for time, with my one good paw.
Fierce was her needle, and she wore it like a sword. 
The Heart of Fairyland is a story 
What is a map, but a thing that gets you where you're going?-Mr. Map
You look like a winter night", he had told her when he had given it to her. "I could sleep inside the cold of you". 
However unlikely it may seem, it is the truth and, therefore, one hundred percent likely. 
We all live inside the terrible engine of authority, and it grinds and shrieks and burns so that no one will say: lines on maps are silly. 
September drank in the starry sky with a longing and a tugging and a sigh. All the way up, to that enormous crescent in the black. 
You humans, you know, whoever built you sewed irony into your sinews. 
Being stern was like being underwater-she could do it, but never for long, and how her whole boy burned to come up for breath! 
Fantasy is my heart and love. And I just want to play in that garden for the rest of my life. 