If I ever win you," he said, anger bright in his pale eyes, "it will be because you want me more. Not because he's gone. I'm nobody's second best.

I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.

I admired Stalkers style. He was incredibly fast using two small blades strapped to the backs of his hands. Slash slash slash. Fighting him you wouldn’t die of one great wound but instead bleed out slowly surprised to find yourself weak and dying after a thousand cuts.

Men always want to be remembered whereas women realize that requires being dead.

Yet sometimes being a friend meant letting people do things that hurt, like putting distance between you, just because it made them happy.

Here in the enclave, one didn't prosper by demonstrating too much independent thought.

No matter how interminable something feels, there is always, always an ending. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it's bad; sometimes it's a matter of indifference, and sometimes it's heartbreaking, and your life is never the same thereafter.