“This is the story of the curse and the kiss, the demon and the girl. It's a love story with dancing and death in it, and singing and souls and shadows reeled out on kite strings.”

“My story isn't beautiful or tragic. It's just another story about a cursed girl living a shitty life.”

“Life will go on as long as there is someone to sing, to dance, to tell stories and to listen.”

“Every story is a story about death. But perhaps, if we are lucky, our story about death is also a story about love.”

“AS SOMBRAS DA ALMA. THE SHADOWS OF THE SOUL. The stories others tell about you and the stories you tell about yourself: which come closer to the truth? Is it so clear that they are your own? Is one an authority on oneself? But that isn't the question that concerns me. The real question is: In such stories, is there really a difference between true and false? In stories about the outside, surely. But when we set out to understand someone on the inside? Is that a trip that ever comes to an end? Is the soul a place of facts? Or are the alleged facts only the deceptive shadows of our stories?”

“I was a kite miles out to sea. I was soaring without a string.”