“I've always had a love for poetry and when I got signed to a record label I thought, 'How odd that I'm doing a record before a book of poetry,'”

“I grew up feeling 'less than.' I was the sad, shy child hiding in the hall closet beneath coats. I'd wait for my grandmother's voice to call, 'Jewell, Jewell.' I was lost, waiting to be found. I thought being found, I'd be happier, better. All the while, I read stories. Stories with both truth and lies.”

“So you write to our congressmenWith bleeding pensOf the sorrow withinAnd in return they just sendTickets to the latest Tom Hanks show”

“This is how The Jewel operates. Status is our sole occupation. Gossip is our currency.”

“You disappoint me, Cassandra. Your legends paint you differently," Daemon said softly, his voice thick with malevolence."I'm a Priestess serving at this Altar," she said, working to keep her voice steady. "You're mistaken, if you think--"He laughed softly. She stepped back from the sound and found herself pressed against the counter. "Do you think I can't tell the difference between a Priestess and a Queen? And the Jewels, my dear, name you for what you are."She bent her head slightly in acknowledgment. "So I'm Cassandra. What do you want, Prince?”

“Don't worry mother, it'll be alrightAnd don't worry sister, say your prayers and sleep rightIt'll be fine lover of mineIt'll be just fineLend your voices only to sounds of freedomNo longer lend you strength to that which you wish to be free fromFill your lives with love and braveryAnd you shall lead a live uncommon”

“Birds were created to record everything. They were not designed just to be beautiful jewels in the sky, but to serve as the eyes of heaven.”

“All your jewels are mine to plunder.”

“Not on one strand are all life's jewels strung.”

“My hands are small, I knowBut they're not yours, they are my ownBut they're not yours, they are my ownAnd I am never broken”

“It seemed to him that love was like a great fire, and that people went flying here and there among the flame and smoke seeking wildly for some rich jewel; and when they found it the flame died down; and, in the end, time polished the jewel into a calm beautiful thing. And the two who had found it sometimes forgot about this jewel of love, and that they ever possessed it, or shared it with each other. But sometimes, toward the end of their lives, they remembered about love once more, and opened the casket of memory in which it lay, faded but still beautiful, and looked at it again before they went their ways.”