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Well, I don’t care,” said Bird out loud, said Bird, who cared so much that she couldn’t bear to touch the hurt. “I don’t care. I ran away from Summer, and I will make my own castle. I will be my own queen.

Katherine Catmull
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She was only half Bird now, and the other half song. She liked it that way.
Katherine Catmull
The bird music sank into her, like a song you used to know but forgot long ago. You hear a piano play it some day, and for a minute you feel a happy pain, but you don't know why. Bird felt like that.
Katherine Catmull
We never really know what might me beside us or ahead, but most days we walk as if we do
Katherine Catmull
...said Finn...“Only remember, Clare. In a dream, what you want will come out, one way or the other. ”“So . . . So I should be careful about what I want, then, right?”“No, you can’t be careful with what you want. Wanting isn’t a pet who stays at your heels; it’s a wild animal. You must become friendly with it. It will make an offer, and you will respond. Converse with what you want that way.”“So what should I try to want? What should I look for?”“Never look for what you should want and desire, but what you do want and desire. You should know that from your poetry. It is the only way to 'make' true. What you desire will appear, no matter how you try to erase or recolor it.”“All right,” said Clare. She turned her back on the ocean and the fire, and began to walk toward the dunes.
Katherine Catmull
Seeing is 'making,' whether you see with your mind or your true self. Try to see with your self, your self and your beast together, and not your busy, frightened mind.
Katherine Catmull
Finn said, “You feel the wind is a bully, beating you. But that is your seeing. That is your story, not the wind’s. To a bird who rides it, that wind is only a kind hand. Because the bird rides the wind’s power. Do you understand?” Clare, bitter, cold, and wind-battered, frowned stubbornly. “But a bird can fly. I can’t fly.” He turned to look at her, and his face was troubled. “If you cling to the safety of the rock, indeed you can’t. To fly, you open your arms and fall, heart first, trusting the wind to bear you up. That’s what the birds do.
Katherine Catmull
And I love everything on this changing, burning earth, but I am most grateful to you.
Katherine Catmull
Have I heard all the stories I need to hear?" she asked, stupidly. But he answered as if it were a good question."No, you haven't. But you don't have time to hear any more from me. So listen for stories wherever you go. It won't always be someone telling them; sometimes they come in other ways. And Summer, when you tell yourself stories, make them true. And make them surprising. That's how you will know they might be true.
Katherine Catmull
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