We Were Liars Cadence Sinclair Eastman Quotes

Windemere is gabled and angular. Two of the five bedrooms have slanted roofs, and it's the only house on the island with a full attic. There's a big porch and a modern kitchen, updated with marble countertops that look a little out of place. The rooms are airy and filled with dogs. (9.2)

When Cadence first tells us about her beach house, she doesn't mention any possessions besides the dogs. There's a little foreshadowing for you, folks.

The house is a three-story gray Victorian. There is a turret up top and a wraparound porch. Inside, it is full of original New Yorker cartoons, family photos, embroidered pillows, small statuettes, ivory paperweights, taxidermied fish on plaques. (11.5)

The only living animals in Clairmont are the dogs, Prince Philip and Fatima. There are plenty of remnants of animals, though, including pieces of ivory and Harris's fishing trophies. It's another glimpse of what lies ahead for the living in this book.

Mummy and I are two of a kind, in the big house with the porch at the top of the hill. The willowy mother and the sickly daughter. (3.6)

Cadence makes her life with Penny seem downright Grey Gardens. All they need are headscarves and a relationship to the Kennedys.

Mummy has our Burlington house filled with silver and crystal, coffee-table books and cashmere blankets. Thick rugs cover every floor, and paintings from several local artists she patronizes line our walls. She likes antique china and displays it in the dining room. (17.6)

The Burlington house seems more like a museum than a home since Penny displays her possessions as a way of showing off her money to visitors.

Clairmont sits at the highest point, with water views in three directions. I crane my neck to look for its friendly turret—but it isn't there…instead of the house where Granddad spent every summer since forever, I see a sleek modern building perched on a rocky hill. (23.23)

New Clairmont is completely different from old Clairmont—so not only has Harris stopped talking about Tipper, he's erased her memory by erasing her taste.

It feels clean and open, but it isn't spartan, because everything is opulent. (33.15)

The Sinclairs don't do simple, and even when things are plain, they're expensive. They probably have to take antihistamines when they get near IKEA furniture.

We take down Bess's landscape watercolors and roll up her rugs. We pillage the littles' bedrooms for fun objects. When we are done, the great room is decorated with piggy banks and patchwork quilts, stacks of children's books, a lamp shaped like an owl. (35.3)

In other words, the Liars make Cuddledown look like somebody lives there.

We set this fire and it is burning down Clairmont.

Burning down the palace, the palace of the king who had three beautiful daughters. (58.10-11)

Burning down Clairmont doesn't lead to a reevaluation of old ways. Harris can build new houses forever; it's easier than examining himself.

We should not accept an evil we can change.

We would stand up against it, would we not?

Yes. We should.

We would be heroes, even. (71.45-48)

Destruction of physical property doesn't change evil. The only way it can change is if the evil people examine themselves.

My full name is Cadence Sinclair Eastman, and contrary to the expectations of the beautiful family in which I was raised, I am an arsonist.

A visionary, a heroine, a rebel.

The kind of person who changes history. (72.14-16)

Cadence doesn't change world history, only Beechwood history. And Beechwood will always rebuild itself.

"Granddad held so much power," I say. "And now he doesn't. We changed an evil we saw in the world." (72.27)

In changing an evil, Cadence literally, physically changes her brain. So she doesn't change the evil nearly as much as she just moves the evil from the outside world into her own head.

It was a horrible thing to do. Maybe. But it was something. It wasn't sitting by, complaining. I am a more powerful person than my mother will ever know. I have trespassed against her and helped her, too. (73.56)

Cadence actually has less power after the accident—she becomes dependent on her mother to dole out meds, take her to the doctor, and otherwise run her life. If anything, her mother becomes more powerful since Cadence can't even spend the night at Cuddledown without her permission.

All my bravado from this morning,

the power,

the perfect crime,

taking down the patriarchy,

the way we Liars saved the summer idyll and made it better,

the way we kept our family together by destroying some part of it—

all that is delusional.

The dogs are dead… (76.3-10)

Remembering the dogs' death is the prelude to remembering the Liars'. Knowing she killed the dogs is horrific enough; knowing she killed the people she loved most is unbearable.

She confused being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it. (79.21)

The Liars become martyrs for a cause, but Gat, Johnny, and Mirren get to go out in a (literal) blaze of glory, while Cadence is left to deal with a lifetime of suffering. It's a long, crippling, pathetic martyrdom.

Go on, she said, the flames will cleanse your souls.

Go on, she said, for you are independent thinkers.

Go on, she said. What is this life we lead, if you do not take action? (79.34-36)

Taking action can enhance your life, or it can bring about your demise. Not knowing which will happen stops a lot of people from acting.

The house was cold. It felt like something that deserved to be destroyed. (81.10)

The Liars destroy the house, but a new, even-colder Phoenix rises from the ashes in the form of New Clairmont. Nobody puts Harris in a corner.

Summer fifteen on Beechwood, Granny Tipper was gone. Clairmont felt empty. (11.4)

Cadence's grandmother may have been an uptight rich lady, but she was the one nurturing person in Cadence's life. Everyone else is too busy fighting over money.

Gran is dead. Having a picture of her won't change anything. (17.23)

This seems pretty cold, but once we know about the Liars' deaths, we understand why Cadence would want to get rid of reminders of dead people.

"If I die," I say as we look at the view, "I mean, when I die, throw my ashes in the water of the tiny beach. Then when you miss me, you can climb up here, look down, and think how awesome I was." (45.5)

Here we have the living telling the dead what to do with their ashes when they die. Cadence's memory is dead, and the Liars' memories are alive. Memory is all they have—or rather, all they are.

"You have no idea what it feels like to have headaches like this. No idea. It hurts […] It makes it hard to be alive, some days. A lot of times I wish I were dead, I truly do, just to make the pain stop." (49.37)

Mirren, Johnny, and Gat died horrible, painful deaths, but at least their pain was finite. Cadence has to live with hers forever.