Cassidy Blake Quotes

Embrace your strange, dear daughter. Where’s the fun in being normal?

Every time I get nervous or scared, I remind myself that every good story needs twists and turns. Every heroine needs an adventure.

Stories have power," she says. "So long as you belive them.

Sometimes help is a place and sometimes it’s a person, and sometimes it’s a bit of both.

There's a difference between wanting to stay and being too afraid to let go.

What you can't see is always scarier than what you can. Your eyes play tricks on you, filling in the shadows, making shapes.

You are my best friend. In life. In death. And everything in between.

This is just a change of setting, a new storyline, a fresh chapter. We have a whole book to write," she says, squeezing me around the shoulders, "and how do we write it?" "One page at a time", I say automatically.

One foot in winter and one in spring. One foot with the living and one with the dead.

Death will come for us again, one way or another. We can't live in fear of it. That's no way to live at all.

Nothing happens until it happens, and then it’s already happening.

He seems happier, lighter, after sharing his story. I feel a little heavier after hearing it, but that's okay. That's how friendship works. You learn to share the weight.

It's hard to believe in ghosts, until you see one, and then it's hard not to.

Fear is a perfectly rational response, the body’s way of telling you not to do something.

and every second you don’t look, your mind just makes it worse because in the end, what you don’t see is always scarier than what you do.

But it's easy not to care what other people think when none of them can see you.

When it comes to the strange and unexplained, it's important to keep an open mind.

History is written by the victors. How can we know what really happened if we weren’t there? We are, all of us, speculating…

People think that ghosts only come out at night, or on Halloween, when the world is dark and the walls are thin. But the truth is, ghosts are everywhere. In the bread aisle at your grocery store, in the middle of you grandmother's garden, in the front seat on your bus. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there.

It's important to take care of the past. To revisit it, to study and learn. Understanding the past helps us move through the present and discover the future.

The living may take strength from love and hope, but the dead grow strong on darker things. On pain and anger and regret.

I know you’re supposed to want to be one of the popular kids, but the truth is, I never have. It just seems like it would be exhausting, trying to keep up with all the rules.

Stories have power,” she says. “So long as you believe them.

Ninth rule of friendship,” he says, “ghost-watching is a two-person sport.

Rule number sixteen of friendship,” I say. “Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow.

She bounces off with all the enthusiasm of someone rushing toward cake, not corpses.

Language is the most valuable currency.

Things can be repaired. People are harder to fix.

Maybe is a rope in a hole, or the key to a door. Maybe is how you find the way out.

But it’s not about doing what’s easy. It’s about doing what’s right.

our memories change, too. (For instance, I swear the teddy bear I had growing up was green, but according to my parents it was orange.) But when you take a photograph, things stay still. The way that they were, is the way that they are, is the way that they will always be. Which is why I love pictures.

Everywhere you step, everywhere you stay, was once home to something—and someone—else.

But the very first rule of friendship is don’t keep secrets.

when you take a photograph, things stay still. The way that they were, is the way that they are, is the way that they will always be.

You don't think about how unnerving silence is until it's everywhere.

The Blake family: two parents, a ghost-seeing girl, her dead best friend, and a rather unhappy cat.

First comes mischief, then comes menace, then mayhem. The more trouble poltergeists cause, the more powerful they get.

Calling the Tuileries a garden is like calling Hogwarts a school.

Most people don’t believe in a thing unless they see it for themselves. And if they see it, they’ll believe it, even if it isn’t real.

You'll make the choice you need to make, not the one you want.

It’s easy to get lost in the space between worlds. It’s like dreaming. Sometimes you forget what is and isn’t real.

Friends don't let friends get snatched away by creepy skeletons.

Those cards just make you think about what you want, and what you’re scared of. They make you face those things. But nothing can predict your future, Cassidy, because futures aren’t predictable. They’re full of mysteries, and chances, and the only person who decides what happens in them is you.

Rule number twenty-one of friendship,” says Jacob. “Don’t leave your friend in the Veil.

Rule number seven,” he says. “Don’t be nosy.

Once, I stole from Death. I'm ready to do it again.

What you feel, Cassidy Blake, is called a purpose.

Rule number six of friendship, Jacob. Friends don’t leave friends in the dark.

Rule number thirty-three.” He says with a smile. “Friends don’t let friends get trapped in reflections?” “That’s the one.

No shame in being scared. But there’s a difference between being scared and being scared away.

Usually, she’s tucked in the corner of a coffee shop, dreaming up stories.

The living are so squeamish when it comes to the dead,” Philippa says. “Sometimes the dead are squeamish, too,” says Jacob.

Stories have a way of making the world feel bigger

No offense, Cass, but I don't care about Lara's inner Hufflepuff.

You are my best friend. In life. In death. And everything in between.

Here, ghosty ghosty,' calls Jacob.

Cats are drawn to the supernatural. They’re often seen as omens, portents of danger, but they’re also amulets against it. Cats make excellent protectors. They’re very brave.

You will have to choose one road, but when you do, the other will be lost. There is no victory without defeat, so you do not want to choose at all, but you must. And no matter what you choose, you will lose something. Or someone.

My camera was on the bedside table, the purple strap frayed and the viewfinder cracked. It was damaged but not ruined, changed but not destroyed. Kind of like me. A little special. A little strange.

Dad says that the world is always changing, every second of every day, and so is everything in it, which means that the you you are right now is different from the you you were when you started reading this sentence. Crazy, right? And your memories change, too. (For instance, I swear the teddy bear I had growing up was green, but according to my parents it was orange.) But when you take a photograph, things stay still. The way that they were, is the way that they are, is the way that they will always be.

And I will not be dragged into the dark.

Eventually, it will come back and tray again. That's what Death does.

Maybe is a match in the dark.

Thomas isn't my problem anymore. He's everyone's.

Thomas Alain Laurent has officially made his way to mayhem.

My parents don't follow fairy tales. They follow ghost stories.

Lara moves like a girl on a mission. I mean, we are on a mission, but she always walks this way. Like she knows where she’s going. Even when it turns out she doesn’t.

I don't mind cemeteries. They're usually pretty peaceful, at least for me.

the world is always changing, every second of every day, and so is everything in it, which means that the you you are right now is different from the you you were when you started reading this sentence.

This city has more history than hauntings,” he says. “For one, it’s the birthplace of jazz.” “And home to voodoo and vampires,” says Mom. “And real people, too,” presses Dad, “like Pere Antoine and Jean Lafitte—” “And the Axeman of New Orleans,” adds Mom brightly. Jacob shoots me a look. “I really hope axe is a kind of instrument and not—” “He went around chopping people up,” Mom adds. Jacob sighs. “Of course he did.

Edinburgh, the first city we went to for the show, was damp and gray, a city of old stones and hidden paths, it's history right on the surface.

He seems happier, lighter, after sharing his story. I feel a little heavier after hearing it, but that’s okay. That’s how friendship works. You learn to share the weight.

Sometimes, even psychic ghost best friends have secrets.

History is history. It is past. And private.' With that, she shuts the door in my face.

Some places just scream haunted ... but this isn't one of them.

I feel like I've stepped into Alice in Wonderland.

Here, dear daughter,' says Mom, offering me the crêpe. 'Educate yourself.

Nothing happens until it happens, and then it’s already happening. That’s one of Dad’s sayings.

Don't let looks fool you, Cass. Paris is brimming with ghost stories.

In the end, I guess mom was right. I have one foot in winter and one in spring. One foot with the living, and one with the dead.

It’s hard to live in a place like this and not believe in something, but I prefer to focus on the history.

Right now, I’m just glad to be alive.

Once is a glitch, an accident. No reason to be worried.

Oh sweet holy no,” says Jacob at my side.

Nothing can predict your future, Cassidy, because futures aren’t predictable. They’re full of mysteries, and chances, and the only person who decides what happens in them is you.

I’ve only ever known Jacob the Ghost. What that really means is that I’ve only known Jacob from the point when he entered my story. I didn’t think so much about the fact that he had a story of his own. A whole life, short as it was, before we got tangled up, before he became my best friend.

It’s important to take care of the past,” muses Dad as we walk between exhibits. “To revisit it, to study and learn. Understanding the past helps us move through the present and discover the future.

Your name is Jacob Ellis Hale, I think. You were born in Strathclyde, New York. Two and half years ago you dove into the river, and last year, you pulled me out. You are my best friend. In life. In death. And everything in between.

Do you want to hear a story?” she says, her voice soft and sweet and creepy. And just like that, we all shuffle closer. Mom has always had that power over people, always been the kind of storyteller who makes her listeners lean in.

Cats make excellent protectors. They’re very brave,” she adds, scratching Amethyst behind the ears. I picture Grim, sitting like a bread loaf in a pool of sun. Once, a bug landed near him, and instead of pouncing on it, he got up and walked away.

My birthday is in late March, right at that place when the seasons run together. When the sun is warm but the wind is cold, and trees are starting to blossom but the ground hasn’t quite thawed. Mom likes to say I was born with one foot in winter and the other in spring. That’s why I can’t sit still, and why (according to her) I’m always searching for trouble—because I don’t belong to one place.

Belief is not a blanket, Cassidy. It doesn’t cover everything. Forgive me. There’s a big difference between believing in the supernatural in the general sense and believing the twelve-year-old girl you’re escorting across Paris is a ghost hunter with a dead sidekick.

For my eleventh birthday, Mom and Dad gave me my camera, the vintage one you already know about, with a purple strap and an old-school flash and an aperture that you rotate by hand. All the kids at school use their phones as cameras—but I wanted something solid, something real. It was love at first

C'est la vie.

We let our hands linger, one above the other. The closest we can get to comfort.

If you've ever stared into a campfire, or the woods, or a blanket of snow, you understand. Your brain gets bored and starts doodling.

Instead, I fell like someone who's holding her breath, and running out of air.

Ci sono due modi di andare incontro alla Morte. O te la vai a cercare o aspetti che sia lei a venire da te

Grim shoots me a look that is half pleading, half murder, and I scoop up the crate and take it with me into the sitting room.

This is just a change of setting, a new storyline, a fresh chapter. We have a whole book to write," she says, squeezing me around the shoulders, "and how do we write it?" "One page at a time," I say automatically. It's Mom's favorite saying, and ever since my dip in the river, I've tried to hold on to it like a rope. Every time I get nervous or scared, I remind myself that every good story needs twists and turns. Every heroine needs an adventure.