Nothing is as it seems. Black can appear white when the light is blinding but white loses all luster at the faintest sign of darkness.

They are all I have left—the stars and the memory of the many times I wished upon them. But with all those wishes, I asked for only one thing. To see him again. But I will not see him again. I do not see him now.

Slow down. The party won't start until I get there - Jo, Remember me. Page 43.

It's ironic, isn't it? Our goal was great. Our path was dark.

The seconds tick. They always do. The power of an entire sun cannot stop them even for a moment, and so death comes between the moments, like a thief of light in the dark.

For feeling, not events, is to me the essence of history.

We all die. It's just a question of when and how horrible it's going to be.