Diana Wynne Jones

“I’ll make some hot buttered toast,” she said.

“Is that all you can do in the face of tragedy?” Howl asked.

Howl’s voice was presently heard shouting weakly, “Help me, someone! I’m dying from neglect up here!”

Wizard Howl was bad enough. Though he did not seem to want to leave the hills, he was known to amuse himself by collecting young girls and sucking the souls from them. Or some people said he ate their hearts. He was an utterly cold-blooded and heartless wizard and no young girl was safe from him if he caught her on her own.

Lettie could be awkwardly strong-minded at times.

She was good at it. She quite liked doing it. But she felt isolated and a little dull.

They seem to be made for one another. Someone ought to arrange a match,

she wanted to do something—she was not sure what—that had a bit more interest to it than simply trimming hats.

Sophie admitted to herself that her life was rather dull.

Sophie had always thought she was nearly as strong-minded as Lettie. Now she was finding that there were some things she could only do when there were no excuses left.

Interesting things did seem to happen, but always to somebody else.