Dorothy debe morir

It's not magic that makes you who you are. It's the choices that you make.

Magic's dangerous for outlanders. You're not built for it.

I was alone.
I had been lonely a lot in my life - enough to know that there are different kinds of lonely.

[...] after all the hours locked away in here, all alone, it really did help just to have him sitting next to me. Just to hear another human voice, to be able to ask a question and get an answer back, even if it wasn't the right answer.

I tried to keep my eyes open. I could sleep when I was dead, and if I didn't want that particular sleep to come very soon, I had to find a way out.

He was lying. There was no question in my mind: his eyes were too big and luminous. You couldn't hide anything behind eyes like those.

So I set my fear aside, put one foot in front of the other, and as the road carried me high into the sky, I felt myself less and less afraid.

She looked so sad. It was the worst kind of sad, too - the kind where you're sad about something that you know will never change. The kind of sad you can't even bother getting angry about anymore.

Well, I had wanted to be gone. I'd wanted it for as long as I'd known there was anywhere to go. I wanted other places, other people. Another me. I wanted to leave everything and everyone behind.