Lydia

“She sighed as she set her spade down before turning to look at him.
She was crying.
Linus didn’t hesitate as he scooped her up in his arms.
She buried her face in his neck, beard tickling his throat. “I am going to bury you right here,” she sobbed. “I’m digging your grave, just so you know.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand over her back. “I would expect nothing less.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“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

“She has the grace to imagine her way into the minds of people who won't imagine hers”
― Leslie Jamison, The Empathy Exams