“Fine," she said, and frowned. Monosyllabicism. An Outsider disease, and she'd been infected.”

“She'd been noticing the feet of colored people ever since she'd come south. "They've been pressed down to the earth so hard," she said. "And the weight of what they carry tortures their feet.”

“Kennedy's issue didn't seem to be that she had been in jail, but that she had put on weight in jail. The food had been crappy, she'd told me, and it has been high on the carbohydrate count. "But I'm an emotional eater," she'd said, as if that were a terrible thing. "And I was real emotional in jail.”

“She'd survived the outside. She'd survived the Aether and cannibals and wolves. She knew how to love now, and how to let go. Whatever came next, she would survive it, too”

“He looked at her. 'In order to finish, I'll have to have defeated six Infected, Dusk, and Vengeous himself.'Yeah. So?'The Infected I can manage.'She frowned. 'And Vengeous? I mean, you can beat him, right?'Well,' he said, "I can certainly try. And trying is half the battle.'What's the other half?'He shrugged. 'Hitting him more times than he hits me.”

“She had learned, in her life, that time lived inside you. You are time, you breathe time. When she'd been young, she'd had an insatiable hunger for more of it, though she hadn't understood why. Now she held inside her a cacophony of times and lately it drowned out the world. The apple tree was still nice to lie near. They peony, for its scent, also fine. When she walked through the woods (infrequently now) she picked her way along the path, making way for the boy inside to run along before her. It could be hard to choose the time outside over the time within.”