The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Palimpsest.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
It would be an unconventional life, and perhaps a little lonely, but at least it would be hers. She would belong to no one but herself.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
because he is a hated thing, but a hated thing is still something. The only thing she has.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
head had begun to ache from staring at the
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Choosing a class became choosing a discipline, and choosing a discipline became choosing a career, and choosing a career became choosing a life, and how was anyone supposed to do that, when you only had one?
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Palimpsest.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
To grow wild and deep, belong to no one but the ground beneath her feet, and the sky above, just like Estele. It would be an unconventional life, and perhaps a little lonely, but at least it would be hers. She would belong to no one but herself.