“Our lives are just spectacles. We are like dolls, in a sense, to be observed and played with - often with cruel and deceitful intentions - in an unreal world.”

“It dawned on her in that moment that what she had loved so much when she heard the harp’s music and then began to play in the midst of the storm was this sense or suggestion of a place, a world without such rules. A place where boundaries simply did not exist, but living things moved freely, in a limitless space, and yet were still connected to everything in much the same way the harp’s music enveloped all the people in the music room last night. Page: 159 - 160”

“Come to us and quackle and quank. Relieve us of our stirrings With your fangs so sharp and bright Take this blood that's always purring. Through our hollow bones it flows To each feather and downy fluff. Quell the terrible, horrid urge that so often prinkles us, Still our dreams, make slow our thoughts Let tranquillity flood our veins. Come to us and drink your fill So we might end our pains. - The Owls at St. Aegolius calling to the bats”

“I dedicate this book to all of you Guardians of Ga'hoole readers who have become like citizens in my imaginary world. Imagination is, in a sense, a two-way street. Through your enthusiasm you have made this world much more real for me. I had originally intended to write only six books. This book, the fifteenth, is the last. It is the last not because your fervor has waned but because this is the logical place for the story of Soren and the band to conclude.”

“Blood hardly defines one's character. We are made by our actions, not our blood. - Soren”

“The path is a ribbon of moonlight across a dusky sea.The wind sings a song that beckons us To that great and mighty tree.We are the Greenowls of Ambala, clad in raiments of moss,Sprigged with lichens and grassesThen gilded with silvery frost.Fair and square we play- for a sporting lot we are.We ride the boisterous Balefire gustsAnd we reach for every star.”

“Far away if first black, But it shall be back Over field Over flower In the twilight hour. We are home in our tree. We are owls, we are free. As we go, this we know Glaux is nigh.”