But that's the thing about being the girl who's spent years convincing the world she's not afraid of anything: At some point, someone is going to find out you're afraid of everything.
You think you walk, Lucy? I think you fly. You see yourself in a uniform? I see you in a cape. You're a hero, of the quietest but most genuine nature.
Home isn't a place. Home is the people who love you most, the people who will always love you, forever and ever, no matter what.
She liked then to wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in.
I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of letting this opportunity pass us by. And I'm afraid of what happens if nothing in this world ever changes.
Reading is awesome. Just escaping into someone else's life, into another world. In books, everything is possible.
But compare the hardest day's work you ever did with the idleness that splits flowers and pokes its way into spiders' stomachs, and thank your stars that your head has got something it must think of, and your hands something that they must do.
Home isn't a place. It's not having a bed to come home to, or a yard, or a Christmas tree at the holidays. Home is the people who love you.
He's my family, and you don't just push family aside for some itch you want to scratch. That's not how real love works. Real love is support, even when you're fighting. Real love in honesty, even when the truth hurts like hell. Real love is being there through every miserable minute and every indefinite minute.
You have been given a great power. But no power comes without a price. That is how magic works. How the universe works. All things kept in balance.
So Santa Claus is bogus but Grim Reapers are the genuine article. What does that say about the world?
What's happened has happened. You can't change the past. All you can do is work on making a brighter future.