The information. Every bit that of information that was ever in your brain. But the information is not the mind Jenna. That we've never accomplished before. What we've done with you is groundbreaking. We cracked the code. The mind is an energy that the brain produces. Think of a glass ball twirling on your fingertip. If it falls, it shatters into a million pieces. All the parts of a ball are still there, but it will never twirl with that force on your fingertip again. The brain is the same way.

— Mary E. Pearson

Their voices meld into a cloudy rumble of their own, and I ponder Mira's and Aidan's secrets and imagine the injustice that threads through other lives, injustice that has no face because it is hidden away in a dark, shameful place, hidden for years in hopes of making it untrue.

— Mary E. Pearson

There are no rules when it comes to survival

— Mary E. Pearson

There aren't many berry bushes where I'm from."" And just where would that be?" His hand paused on a berry like it was a monumental decision whether to pluck it or not. He finally pulled and explained he was from a small town in the southernmost part of Mórrígan. When I asked the name, he said it was very small and had no name...." A town with no name? Really? How very odd." I waited for him to scramble, and he didn't disappoint me." It's only a region. A few scattered dwellings at most. We're farmers there. Mostly farmers. And you? Where are you from?"... I took the berry still poised in his fingers and popped it in my mouth. Where was I from? I narrowed my eyes and smiled. "A small town in the northernmost part of Mórrígan. Mostly farmers. Only a region, really. A few scattered dwellings. At most. No name." He couldn't restrain a chuckle. "Then we come from opposite but similar worlds, don't we?

— Mary E. Pearson

The seed of the gift may come, but a seedling that isn't nourished dies quickly.

— Mary E. Pearson

The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.

— Mary E. Pearson

Today was the day a thousand dreams would die, and a single dream would be born. The wind knew. It was the first of June, but cold gusts bit at the hilltop citadel as fiercely as deepest winter, shaking the windows with curses and winding through drafty halls with warning whispers. There was no escaping what was to come.

— Mary E. Pearson

Until one comes who is mightier, The one sprung from misery, The one who was weak, The one who was hunted, The one marked with claw and vine, The one named in secret, The one called Cecelia.

— Mary E. Pearson

We already had three steps behind us." Hold on, Lia," I whispered. Hold on for me.

— Mary E. Pearson

What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.

— Mary E. Pearson