Furthermore

She'd decided long ago that life was a long journey. She would be strong and she would be weak, and both would be okay.

Why must you look like the rest of us? Why do you have to be the one to change? Change the way we see. Don't change the way you are.

It was so much easier to fight for another than it was to fight for oneself.

Narrow-mindedness will only get you as far as Nowhere, and once you're there, you're lost forever.

Alice knew that being different would always be difficult; she knew that there was no magic that would erase narrow-mindedness or iron out the inequities in life. But Alice was also beginning to learn that life was never lived in absolutes. People would both love her and rebuff her; they would show both kindness and prejudice. The simple truth was that Alice would always be different—but to be different was to be extraordinary, and to be extraordinary was an adventure. It no longer mattered how the world saw her; what mattered was how Alice saw herself. Alice

Best to introduce yourself to patience now, so that it might find you when you call upon it later.

Red was ruby, green was fluorescent, yellow was simply incandescent. Color was life. Color was everything. Color, you see, was the universal sign of magic.

Oh, life had been a lonely one, but she knew how to pass the time.

The morning arrived the way Alice imagined a whisper would: in tendrils of gray and threads of gold, quietly, quietly. The sky was illuminated with great care and deliberation, and she leaned back to watch it bloom.

Alice would choose to love herself, different and extraordinary, every day of the week.

Love, it turned out, could both hurt and heal.

Studies have shown that thinking and wondering lead to thoughtful decision-making. It's an epidemic.

She felt most comfortable in nature, where things weren’t required to look like the other in order to live together peacefully.

Alice was an odd girl, even for Ferenwood, where the sun occasionally rained and the colors were brighter than usual and magic was as common as a frowning parent.

People are so preoccupied with making sense despite it being the most uninteresting thing to manufacture.” He shook his head. “Making magic,” he said, “is far more interesting than making sense.

She could see all of Ferenwood from here: the rolling hills, the endless explosion of color cascading down and across the lush landscape. Reds and blues: Maroon and ceruleans. Yellow and tangerine and violet and aquamarine. Every hue held a flavor, a heartbeat, a life. She took a deep breath and drew it all in.

Love had made her fearless, and wasn’t it strange? It was so much easier to fight for another than it was to fight for oneself.)

Alice dropped her head, because sadness had left hinges in her bones.

Suddenly she understood that it is a very hard thing, to be afraid of things, and that it takes up so much time. Suddenly she understood why Mother rarely got around to doing the dishes. “Does

Mother often said that she could never be bothered to understand why Alice did the things she did, and now, more than ever, Alice thought never being bothered was a very lazy way to love someone.

The afternoon our story begins, the quiet parts of being alive were the busiest: wind unlocking Windows; rainlight nudging curtains apart; fresh-cut grass tickling unsocked feet. Days like this made Alice want to set off on a great adventure.

Alice jumped from flagstone to flagstone, her face caught in the rainlight glow, her hand grasping for a touch of gold. The towns excitement was contagious, and the air was so thick with promise Alice could almost bite into it.

He spent the next ten minutes giving a speech about the great day that is the day of their Surrender, and I can’t be bothered to remember it all (it went on for nine minutes too long, if you ask me), but suffice it to say that it was a heart-warming speech that excited the crowd and sent jitters up Alice’s skirts; and anyway, I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to skip ahead to the part where things actually happen.

Mother didn’t care for the oddness of Alice; she wasn’t a parent who was predisposed to liking her children. She didn’t find their quirks endearing.

Alice had hoped to be brave – she'd hoped she was stronger than her fears – but Alice was injured on the inside; and though her anger kept her upright, it couldn't keep her steady, and from moment to moment Alice would slip.