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"There was still something unfinished around her eyes; she wasn't done yet. She was a story, not an epilogue. And if she chose to narrate her own life one word at a time as she descended the stairs to meet her newest arrival, that wasn't hurting anyone. Narration was a hard habit to break, after all. Sometimes it was all a body had."
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"Every now and then one paints a picture that seems to have opened a door and serves as a stepping stone to other things."

"Life is a rich literature."

"But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin."

"So I believe in the redeeming power of stories, I believe that stories are incredibly important, possibly in ways we don't understand, in allowing us to make sense of our lives, in allowing us to escape our lives, in giving us empathy and in creating the world that we live in."

"This is one of those stories where the feeling of the moment stands in for visual details."

"Thomas Builds-the-Fire's stories climbed into your clothes like sad, gave you itches that could not be scratched. If you repeated eve a sentence from one of those stories, your throat was never the same again. Those stories hung in your clothes and hair like smoke, and no amount of laundry soap or shampoo washed them out. Victor and Junior often tried to beat those stories out of Thomas, tied him down and taped his mouth shut. They pretended to be friendly and tried to sweet talk Thomas into temporary silences, made promises about beautiful Indian women and cases of Diet Pepsi. But none of that stopped Thomas, who talked and talked."

"In my perception, the world wasn't a graph or formula or an equation. It was a story."

"I heard a story," Aedion drawled to Rowan, "that you killed an enemy warlord using a table." "Please,"Aelin said. "Who the hell told you that?""Quinn-your uncle's Captain of the Guard. He was an admirer of Prince Rowan's. He knew all the stories."Aelin slid her eyes to Rowan, who smirked, bracing his sparring stick on the floor. "You can't be serious," she said. "What-you squashed him to death like a pressed grape?"

"But we don't run on facts. We run on stories about things. About people."
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"And you shouldn't believe all the press about Ouija boards. They can't be used in an exorcism. Trivial Pursuit can, but that's another story."

"I am so tired of this gothic crap, I muttered. 'Just once, I want to meet the villain in a cheerful, brightly lit room. Possibly one with kittens."

"Hey!' I turned, crossing my arms and glaring. 'I was talking to him!'Tybalt eyed me with amusement, which just made me glare harder. 'No, you were inciting him to stab you with a toothpick. Again, the difference is small, but I think it matters."

"Doors opened everywhere. Maybe one day, the children of this world who had gone to that world to save themselves would see a door that didn't fit right with the walls around it, something with a doorknob made of a moon, or a knocker that winked. Maybe they could still go home."

"I would love a sandwich,' said Tybalt, with enough gravity to make it sound like a formal proclamation. Resolved: that we will have ham and cheese sandwiches."

"Hello? I peered into the shadows.Two green circles flashed in the dark. I yelped, jumping backward and pressing myself against the wall.'And may I wish a very good morning to you, too, October. The voice was amused, underscored by a chuckle like thick cream. 'What happened? Did the prettiest little princess miss her carriage home?"

"Now, if you will excuse me, a dead woman is trying to convince me to drink something that comes in layers."

"I didn't look back. Sometimes, not looking back is the only mercy the world has left to show."
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