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Heir of Fire
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Sinead Sinead said: " This book is also on my blog Less Reality More Books

This book was a whirlwind of emotions and didn’t stop once to let me catch my breath. The last few chapters especially were so hard to read, partly because I knew it was nearly over and also because
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  (page 424 of 565)
Sep 22, 2018 04:45PM

 
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Katherine Center
“It’s one of the secrets to life that no one ever tells you. Joy cures everything.” I flared my nostrils. “Everything?” I challenged, pointing at the bandage over my stitches.” “Everything emotional,” Max clarified. “I don’t think you can cure emotions,” I said. But Max just nodded. “Joy is an antidote to fear. To anger. To boredom. To sorrow.” “But you can’t just decide to feel joyful.” “True. But you can decide to do something joyful.” I considered that. “You can hug somebody. Or crank up the radio. Or watch a funny movie. Or tickle somebody. Or lip-synch your favorite song. Or buy the person behind you at Starbucks a coffee. Or wear a flower hat to work.”
Katherine Center, What You Wish For

T.J. Klune
“You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”
T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

T.J. Klune
“Hate is loud, but I think you'll learn it's because it's only a few people shouting, desperate to be heard. You might not ever be able to change their minds, but so long as your remember you're not alone, you will overcome.”
T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

T.J. Klune
“We should always make time for the things we like. If we don't, we might forget how to be happy.”
T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

T.J. Klune
“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

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