There's always a bit of real mixed in with everything

I know Caraval can be magical and romantic and wonderful, but the spells it casts aren’t easily shaken off, and half the time I don’t even think people realise they have been bewitched.

Scarlett's nana used to say the world of Caraval was Master Legend's playground. No words were spoken that he didn't hear. Not even a whisper could escape his ears, no shadow went unseen by his eyes. No one ever saw Legend---or if they did, they didn't know it was him---but Legend saw all during Caraval.

The air was full of salt and secrets.

The air tasted like wonder. Like candied butterfly wings caught in sugared spiderwebs, and drunken peaches coated in luck.

Every story has four parts - the beginning, the middle, the almost ending, and the true ending.

His mouth was crashing against hers. He tasted like exquisite nightmares and stolen dreams, like the wings of fallen angels, and bottles of fresh moonlight.

It took seven years to get the letter right.

Dante had wings. And, holy mother of saints, they were beautiful-soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins, the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust.