Quotes by Christine Brodien-Jones

I need to buy some postcards to send to Mom and Dad, said Ian, heading up the steas to the Captains Quill Bookshop. I also want to send some funny ones to Jackson and some of my other friends.Ill get one for my mom, said Zoe.But as she sorted through the postcards, she remembered her mom was travling all summer without a fixed address, and email was a no-go because Granddad didnt own a computer. She didnt have the addresses of any of her friends with her, either-not that she had many friends.

Zoe let the poetry flow over her, like shadows on water, sunlight against stone: timeworn words shaped like stars, like shells, like the ruins of lost temples, soft as the breaths of mystics.

Kids in aprons appeared, putting tureens of vegetable soup on the tables and plates of boiled eggs, potatoes and lentils, bowls of endive-and-radish salad, small rounds of cheese and loaves of brown bread, all looking quite delicious, in Zoes opinion.

Going by Dr. Marriotts description, Zoe imagined it to be small and elegant as she peered into dozens of shelves, rummaging through the contents. There were globes and charts and atlases, pocket watches and hand-painted Indian silk, gold-plated cutlery, litter coffers of spice, inlaid combs, silver fasteners, trinket boxes, blown-glass figurines, turn-of-the-century postcards with foreign stamps, and portraits of Victorian authors in elaborate frames. But nowhere did she discover a stone of any kind, with or without runes.

Zoes mom liked to send silly postcards that made her laugh, but they usually dwindled as the summer wore on.

Just because there were times you were frightened doesnt mean you werent brave.

Without doubt, it is the greatest act of courage that is often the most fearful.