The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
The music is liquid, the air thick as syrup as
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
modern Manhattan woman,
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Up above it may be early spring, but down here it is late summer, humid and heavy.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
who sprang up from the ground itself with gnarled hands and woody skin and roots deep enough to tap into her own hidden well.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“Small places make for small lives. And some people are fine with that. They like knowing where to put their feet. But if you only walk in other people’s steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.”
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Another echo of Estele. Stubborn as stale bread.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“well—the devil is simply a new word for a very old idea. And as for God, well, if all it takes is a flair for drama and a bit of golden trim…”
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
indignant.
V. E. Schwab • The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Henry wonders, as they wait in the queue, if some people have natural style, or if they simply have the discipline to curate themselves every day.