If Im going to invest the time in a novel, I want something more than the entertainment you get out of most genre fiction.

We go to the past to lay the blame - since the past can't argue. We go to our past selves to account for our present miseries.

Kneecaps only exist to get hit with claw-hammers; grace only exists to be fallen from.

Peace is purchased in the currency of loss.

We’re the worst thing because for us the worst thing is the best thing. And it’s only the best thing for us if it’s the worst thing for someone else.

Yes, Eden was beautiful- and if I had to squeeze through corporeal keyholes to crash it- so be it. (Hasn’t it bothered you, this part of the story, my being there, I mean? What was I doing there? ‘Presume not the ways of God to scan,’ you’ve been told in umpteen variations, ‘the proper study of Mankind is Man.’ Maybe so, but what, excuse me, was the Devil doing in Eden?) I took the forms of animals. I found I could. (That’s generally my reason for doing something, by the way, because I find I can.)

Falling in love makes the unknown known. Falling out of love reverses the process.