“You're Oberon's blood." A cool note of amusement colored his voice. "Of course you can dance.”

“You can," he said. There was a tremulous note in his voice. "You're strong—you're so, so strong. It's why I love you.”

“Of course he loves me. I’m his sister.”“Blood isn’t love,” said Magnus, and his voice was bitter.”

“The sky on a clear night is a living, pulsating thing. The stars are like musical notes turned to light, and, like notes, they shimmer and swell and fade and fall. The painters have never captured it—but they never will until some painter teaches his colors to dance.”

“Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.”

“You're cool Joe" she told him, her voice weighty, as if she was bestowing a grave honor on him even though a blind person could sense his utter coolness.”