Kate faced the crowd. They were just eyes and teeth to her, just spit and voices. It was a moment, even, before they became people: a man with one blind eye, another whose neck was thick with lumps and weeping wounds of scrofula. The poorest of the market. At Kate's feet, Drink. Her scarf and shirt were torn open.

— Erin Bow

No, blowing up cities doesn't work, not in the long term. You've got to find something that the people in charge aren't willing to give up. A price they aren't willing to pay. Which leads us to Tali's's first rule for stopping wars: make it personal.

— Erin Bow

No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called Lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can't put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.

— Erin Bow

Often she dreamt she had two wings, and one was frightened, and one was happy.

— Erin Bow

Plain Kate greased her boots and bandaged her feet, and soon she would walk like a Roamer born. She helped Drink with the water and the wood, and in the long, wet evenings she carved bark burn. Plain Kate carved fast and learned slowly. She was bewildered most of the time, but DAJ called her Mira again, and when she asked Drink what it meant, the girl replied, "It means she likes you. It means your family." Family. It could have kept her walking for a hundred miles. And she did walk far.

— Erin Bow

She was dry. She was lying on something soft. Furthermore, she was wrapped in quilts. There was a star of light drifting above her, and a smell like a herb garden. Tangle was a long warmth stretched out at one side, his chin in her hand, his tail curled over her neck. She thought they might be in heaven. Taggle farted. Plain Kate coughed and sneezed. And then she really was awake.

— Erin Bow

Tangle looked up at her, his amber eyes as deep as the loneliness Kate had felt before he became her friend." The traditional thing," he said slowly, "involves the river and a sack.

— Erin Bow

Tangle, meanwhile, made himself popular, killing rats and bringing a rabbit into camp every evening, preening in the praise - silently, thank god, though at night, he recounted choice bits to Kate: "Rye Bar says I am a princeling; he split the leg bone for me so that I could eat the marrow. They love me. And I'm sure they'll keep you, too." Mira, she thought, and treasured it each time she heard it, They must keep me. Family.

— Erin Bow

Tangle was absorbed in the meat pie. ‘It’s covered in BREAD,’ he huffed. ‘What fool has covered MEAT with BREAD?

— Erin Bow

The night was white-blind with fog, and Kate staggered over every stone and stumbled in every puddle, but she pushed on as fast as she could.

— Erin Bow