Murderers are not monsters, they're men. And that's the most frightening thing about them.

But she was waiting patiently. She no longer believed in talk. It never rescued anything. At seventy she had come to believe in time alone. ~pg 254

If I had but an hour of love,if that be all that is given me,an hour of love upon this earth,I would give my love to thee.

These things, she felt, were not to be passed around like disingenuous party favors. She kept an honor code with her journals and her poems. 'Inside, inside,' she would whisper quietly to herself when she felt the urge to tell.

Every day a question mark.

I would like to tell you that I am, and you will one day be, forever safe.

He would find his Susie,inside his young son. Give that love to the living.