“The thinking man often rebuked his girlfriend because of her extravagance. Once he discovered four pairs of shoes in her room. “I also have four different kinds of feet,” she excused herself. The thinking man laughed and asked: “So what do you do, when one pair is worn out?” At that, she realized he was not yet quite in the picture and said, “I made a mistake, I have five different kinds of feet.” With that the thinking man was finally in the picture.”

“Then she probably would have waved back," Max said. "And it might be a he.""Ha! Not likely," Lucia said. "Didn't you notice them?""Them what?" Max asked."Her... you know. She has breasts, Max! What do you think that is on her chest?""I think it's a pair of crossed arms," Max said.”

“To the barefoot man, happiness is a pair of shoes. To the man with old shoes, it's a pair of new shoes. To the man with new shoes, it's stylish shoes. And of course, the fellow with no feet would be happy to be barefoot. Measure your life by what you have not by what you don't.”

“Afterward, I curl around her. We lie in silence until darkness falls, and then, haltingly, she begins to talk...She speaks without need or even room for response, so I simply hold her and stroke her hair. She talks of the pain, grief, and horror of the past four years; of learning to cope with being the wife of a man so violent and unpredictable his touch made her skin crawl and of thinking, until quite recently, that she'd finally managed to do that. And then, finally, of how my appearance had forced her to realize she hadn't learned to cope at all.”

“I never said I didn’t identify with Lily,” she went on, her voice clear and her own. “I think in some way she’s the heart of the book. And her transformation at the end, when she’s finally able to finish her painting, after she doesn’t have anything holding her back…it’s one of the most important scenes in the novel. It’s when she finally realises who she is.”Mr Whitley nodded vaguely, pacing the length of a square-paned window overlooking the courtyard below.“And what was it?” he asked deliberately. “What do you think was holding her back all that time?”Olivia looked down at her feet, feeling every pair of eyes in the class burning holes into the top of her head. Miles’s mushroom loafers were fidgeting under the chair beside her, and she felt him holding his breathe. Her heart was pounding, but this time it was different. Everybody in the room was waiting for her, and that was okay. This time she had things to say.“The past,” Olivia answered finally. “The past was holding her back.”

“Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.”