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“I think I even caught a glimpse of love when I turned back to look at his face—or at least a possessive, conditional, desire-to-own—but it was quickly subsumed beneath his towering fury. There is nothing quite like the anger of someone very powerful who has been thwarted by someone who was supposed to be weak.�

There are moments when January is too stupid to live.
This was one of those moments.

I was abruptly, entirely sick of it—of secrets and lies and almost-truths, things I half knew and half suspected, patched-together stories that were never told in order from beginning to end. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement in the world that young girls without money or means were simply too insignificant to be told everything. Even my own father had waited until the very last moment to tell me his whole truth.

“The truth is that the powerful come for the weak, whenever and wherever they like. Always have, always will.�

January, you idiot, just *think* for a moment. And then act. Please.

Ok, this book is really good. Really good.
“You see, doors are many things: fissures and cracks, ways between, mysteries and borders. But more than anything else, doors are change.3 When things slip through them, no matter how small or brief, change trails them like porpoises following a ship’s wake.�

“If one follows the stories, one will nearly always find a doorway buried at their roots.�