I don't love you. But I see the value of you, the incredible worth of you, more than anyone I've ever known.

I should have known the power-hungry slave drivers at River's Edge would see my five days of freedom only as a challenge to be filled.

I felt an overwhelming gratitude in my life right now and wanted a chance to acknowledge it. I felt that any thanks given to any god all went to the same place, anyway, no matter what religion you were centered in.

Could he actually be my muirn beatha dan?

I feel like a fox in a henhouse full of Catholic girls.

I-just want you. I want you so bad, all the time. I know I shouldn't, I know I can't, I know it's wrong... but even when you're pissing me off, when you're reminding me of pain and despair and torture-it's there, the wanting. I'm tired of fighting it. I fight so many things, all the time, every day. I don't want to fight this. Not anymore.

You're not honey. Your'e wine. You're the deepest, darkest shadow under a tree on a blazing day. You're strong and hard, coursing like a current at the bottom of a river.