Ela

“Viana se acurrucó entre sus raíces y escuchó su canción, y después cantó con él.”
― Laura Gallego Garcia, Donde los árboles cantan

“She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time . . .
. . . but it wasn’t.
Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows

“There are more kinds of love than stars, said Brother Zachariah, If you do not feel one, there are many others. You know what it is to care for family and friends. What we keep sacred, keeps us safe. Consider that by trying to cut yourself off from the possibility of being hurt, you shut the door on love and live in darkness.”
― Cassandra Clare, Son of the Dawn

“Muchacha, te contaré algo: el mundo está lleno de historias. Todas las personas y todas las cosas tienen historias que contar. A algunas de ellas se llega a través de gente como yo, que las relata para que no se olviden. Otras, en cmbio... se viven. ¿Entiendes? (...) Ahora tú debes decidir (...) si seguirás siendo una oyente o, por el contrario, saldrás en busca de tu propia historia”
― Laura Gallego García, Donde los árboles cantan