The Girl Who Drank the Moon

Knowledge is power, but it is a terrible power when it is hoarded and hidden.

How many feelings can one heart hold?... Infinite, Luna thought. The way the universe is infinite. It is light and dark and endless motion; it is space and time, and space within space, and time within time. And she knew: there is no limit to what the heart can carry.

Death is always sudden," Glerk said. His eyes had begun to itch. "Even when it isn't.

Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it isn't there. Some of the most wonderful things in the world are invisible. Trusting in invisible things makes them more powerful and wondrous.

Everything you see is in the process of making or unmaking or dying or living. Everything is in a state of change.

A story can tell the truth...but a story can also lie. Stories can bend and twist and obfuscate. Controlling stories is power indeed. And who could benefit most from such a power?

Some of us...choose love over power. Indeed, most of us do.

Not all knowledge comes from the mind. Your body, your heart, your intuition. Sometimes memories even have minds of their own.

It was a fine thing indeed, Luna thought, being eleven. She loved the symmetry of it, and the lack of symmetry. Eleven was a number that was visually even, but functionally not - it looked one way and behaved in quite another. Just like most eleven-year-olds, or so she assumed.

Memory was a slippery thing—slick moss on an unstable slope—and it was ever so easy to lose one’s footing and fall

And the more they asked, the more they wondered. And the more they wondered, the more they hoped. And the more they hoped, the more the clouds of sorrow lifted, drifted, and burned away in the heat of a brightening sky.

My love isn't divided," she said. "It is multiplied.

She needs to be educated. She needs to know the contents of those books, there. She needs to understand the movements of the stars and the origins of the universe and the requirements of kindness. She needs to know mathematics and poetry. She must ask questions. She must seek to understand. She must understand the laws of cause and effect and unintended consequences. She must learn compassion and curiosity and awe. All of these things. We have to instruct her, Glerk. All three of us. It is a great responsibility.” The

Human babies are only tiny for an instant—their growing up is as swift as the beat of a hummingbird’s wing.

Hope and light and motion, her soul whispered. Hope and formation and fusion, Hope and heat and accretion. The miracle of gravity. The miracle of transformation. Each precious thing is destroyed and each precious thing is saved. Hope, hope, hope.

The heart is built of starlight And time. A pinprick of longing lost in the dark. An unbroken chord linking the Infinite to the Infinite. My heart wishes upon your heart and the wish is granted. Meanwhile the world spins. Meanwhile the universe expands. Meanwhile the mystery of love reveals itself, again and again, in the mystery of you. I have gone. I will return. Glerk

Patience does not run Nor blow, nor skitter, nor falter. Patience is the swell of the ocean; Patience is the sigh of the mountain; Patience is the shirr of the Bog; Patience is the chorus of stars, Infinitely singing.’ ” “I

Once upon a time, something terrifying lived in the woods. Or perhaps the woods were terrifying. Or perhaps the whole world is poisoned with wickedness and lies, and it's best to learn that now. No, Fyrian, darling. I don't believe that last bit either.

How many feelings can one heart hold? She looked at her grandmother. At her mother. At the man protecting his family. Infinite, Luna thought. The way the universe is infinite. It is light and dark and endless motion; it is space and time, and space within space, and time within time. And she knew: there is no limit to what the heart can carry.

The more he learned, the more he knew what more there was to learn. There were deep pools of knowledge in dusty volumes quietly shelved in libraries, and Antain thirsted for all of them

She is doing that on purpose, he thought as he tried to force his own smile away from his wide, damp jaws. She is being adorable as some sort of hideous ruse, to spite me. What a mean baby! ... Do not fall in love with that baby...

Curiosity is the curse of the Clever. Or perhaps cleverness is the curse of the Curious. In any case, I am never lacking for either, I’m afraid, which does keep me rather busy.

Stuff. The stuff of stars. The stuff of light. The stuff of a planet before it is a planet. The stuff of a baby before it is born. The stuff of a seed before it is a sycamore. Everything you see is in the process of making or unmaking or dying or living. Everything is in a state of change.

When you apologize, however, you may begin healing yourself. It is not for us. It is for you. I recommend it.

In every breeze exhales the promise of spring, Each sleeping tree dreams green dreams; the barren mountain wakes in blossom.

The Fool, when removed from solid ground, leaps- From mountaintop, to burning star, to black, black space. The scholar, when bereft of scroll, of quill, of heavy tome, Falls. And cannot be found.

Their backs bent under the weight of secrets.

She was eleven, after all. She was both even and odd. She was ready to be many things at once—child, grown-up, poet, engineer, botanist, dragon. The list went on.

A story can tell the truth, she knew, but a story can also lie. Stories can bend and twist and obfuscate. Controlling stories is power indeed.