They were not pretty, these women. Pretty did not begin to describe them.They were shrewd. Powerful. Wily. Proud. Dangerous.They were strong.There were brave.They were beautiful.

Believe that you can make your way. Or don't. Either way, you are right.

What's done is done. Whether to you, or by you, and you cannot change it. But what's not done is not done. And there, both hope and hazard lie.

I need a name for this ink ... A name for the feeling you get when you see someone again. After many years. Someone lost to you. Or so you thought. And you remember them a certain way. In your mind, they never age. But then suddenly, there they are. Older. Changed by time. Different, but exactly the same.

You’re the worst girl I’ve ever met Isabelle,” Hugo added, with touching sincerity. “ You’re so tough and stubborn, you give me nightmares.

Here are the things girls die of: hunger, disease, accidents, childbirth, and violence. It takes more than heartache to kill a girl. Girls are tough as rocks.

Mortals aren't born strong, they become strong.

Can't you see that the courage to risk, to dare, to toss that gold coin up in the air over and over again, win or lose, is what makes humans human? They are fragile, doomed creatures, blinder than worms yet braver than the gods.

Every war is different, yet each battle is the same. The enemy is only a distraction. The thing you are fighting against, always, is yourself.