“There is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.”

“The sun has blessed you," Sarita used to say. "Look how he has left his kisses on your face for all to see and be jealous.""The sun loves you more," I said, rubbing my hands over her dry arms, the color of an aged wine gourd, and she laughed.But this is not India and we are not prized for our freckles here. The sun is not allowed to show his love.”

“We fall into the great continuing circle of dancers. Some leave the floor, tired but giddy; others have only just arrived. They are eager to wear their new status as ladies, to be paraded about and lauded until they see themselves with new eyes. The fathers beam at their daughters, thinking them perfect flowers in need of their protection, while the mothers watch from the margins, certain this moment is their doing. We create illusions we need to go on. And one day, when they no longer dazzle or comfort, we tear them down, brick by glittering brick, until we are left with nothing but the bright light of honesty. The light is liberating. Necessary. Terrifying. We stand naked and emptied before it. Adn when it is too much for our eyes to take, we build a new illusion to shield us from its relentless truth.But the girls! Their eyes glow with the fever dream of all they might become. They tell themselves this is the beginning of everything. And who am I to say it isn't? ”

“It is how it has always been. We will accept the legacy of our ancestors,' Asha says, smiling, and in her smile I do not see warmth or wisdom; I see fear.You're afraid of losing your hold on them,' I say coolly.I? I have no power.'Don't you? If you keep them from the magic, they will never know what their lives could be.'They will remain protected,' Asha insists.No,' I say. 'Only untested'-page 569”

“But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on.”

“We all walk in a land of dreams. For what are we but atoms and hope, a handful of stardust and sinew? We are weary travelers trying to find our way home on a road that never ends. Am I a part of your dream? or are you but a part of mine?”

“This is the world we live in, Gemma, for better or for worse. Make of it what you can," he says, and I pull him to me.”