I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.

Just... ate," M says, frowning at me a little. "Two days...ago." I grab my stomach again. "Feel empty. Feel... dead." He nods. "Marr...iage.

Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.

Maybe this is why I sleep only a few hours a month. I don't want to die again. This has become clearer and clearer to me recently, a desire so sharp and focused I can hardly believe it's mine: I don't want to die. I don't want to disappear. I want to stay.

Can we really choose anything?' 'Maybe. If we want to bad enough.