“Everything hurts. I don't know how to make it stop. It hurts when I breathe. It hurts when I think. I feel like I'm drowning, and it's my fault, and I don't know how to be okay. I don't know… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“Mourning was its own kind of music—the sound of so many hearts, of so many breaths, of so many standing together.” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“Perhaps it is in our best interest to... to surrender rather than waste words.” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“The dead are silent, and objects, when they hold impressions, are quiet until you reach through them. But the touch of living is loud. Living people haven't been compiled, organized -which means they're a jumble of memory and thought and emotion, all tangled up and held at bay only by the silver band of my finger. The ring helps, but… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share
“Having something and losing it, it's so much crueler than never having had it.” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“People are made up of so many small details. Some—like the smell of cookies baking—we can recreate. Or at least try.” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“I suppose it doesn't matter how they get out. All that matters is they do. And when they do, they must be found. They… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“The silliest things shatter you. A T-shirt discovered behind the washing machine. A toy that rolled under a cabinet in the garage, forgotten until… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“What a mess. Truths are messy and lies are messy, and I don’t care what Da said, it’s impossible to cut a person into… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“Let them think you a demon or a god,” she said. “Let them fear you. It does not matter.” “It matters a great deal… — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“What do schools do that for?” he grumbles. “What’s the point of summer if they give you homework?” “Exactly!” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
“I am broken the way most writers are, stories leaking through the cracks.” — Victoria Schwab Copy Share Image
