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Quote by Lauren Wolk

“Blame comes from the Greek for “curse”. That’s the root of it. A curse against the sacred, which is what sisters are or should be to each other.”

Quote by Lauren Wolk

Book:Echo Mountain
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Echo Mountain

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Lauren Wolk

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“You said, the other day, you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money.’ ‘So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are ; for, though we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.’ ‘Jo does use such slang words!’ observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle. ‘Don’t, Jo ; it’s so boyish!’ ‘That’s why I do it.’ ‘I detest rude, unladylike girls!’ ‘I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!”

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“The job of feets is walking, but their hobby is dancing.”

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Book:Wealth of Words
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“She squeezed her eyes shut and stopped resisting. She fell into his arms, where he held her gently for a heartbeat then sighed. She thought of Val again. For all her dragging and pulling and demanding, all their ways their bodies had come into contact—and conflict—with each other over the years, Val had never given herself to Veronyka like this. Never offered herself at all. With Val, everything was take, take, take.”

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Book:Heart of Flames
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“Elsa was smart and focused, but kept so much bottled up inside her it was a wonder she didn't explode. Anna was a free spirit who wore her heart on her sleeve, but she could also be impulsive. Even at five, she was already an outgoing little thing who liked to stop and talk to every person she met, while Elsa tried to hide behind her parents at gatherings and preferred life in the background. They balanced each other perfectly- Elsa knowing when to help rein Anna in, and Anna knowing when to pull Elsa out.”

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Book:Conceal, Don't Feel
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“Her eyes watered triumphantly, and she let her gaze drop back towards the house: the window of her bedroom, the Michaelmas daisy she and Ma had planted over the poor, dead body of Constable the cat, the chink in the bricks where, embarrassingly, she used to leave notes for the fairies. There were faint memories of a time before, of being a very small child, collecting winkles from a pool by the seashore, of dining each night in the front room of her grandmother's seaside boardinghouse, but they were like a dream. The farmhouse was the only home she'd ever known. And although she didn't want a matching armchair of her own, she liked seeing her parents in theirs each night, knowing as she feel asleep that they were murmuring together on the other side of the thin wall, that she only had to reach out an arm to bother one of her sisters. She would miss them when she went. Laurel blinked. She would miss them. The certainty was swift and heavy. It sat in her stomach like a stone. They borrowed her clothes, broke her lipsticks, scratched her records, but she would miss them. The noise and heat of them, the movement and squabbles and crushing joy. They were like a litter of puppies, tumbling together in their shared bedroom. They overwhelmed outsiders and this pleased them. They were the Nicolson girls, Laurel, Rose, Iris, and Daphne; a garden of daughters, as Daddy rhapsodized when he'd had a pint too many. Unholy terrors, as Grandma proclaimed after their holiday visits.”

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Book:The Secret Keeper
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