Thomas hated the people who'd taken this poor, innocent kid form his family. He hated them with a passion he didn't know a human could feel. He wanted them dead, tortured, even. He wanted Chuck to be happy. But happiness had been ripped form their lives. Love had been ripped from their lives.

Thomas: Is it [my brain] fixed? Brenda: It worked, judging from the fact that you're not trying to kill us anymore.

She smiled for the first time, and he almost had to look away, as if something that nice didn’t belong in such a glum and gray place, as if he had no right to look at her expression.

When I'm feeling a little empty in the head, I like to go see movies or read to loosen things up there.

I think Judy Blume, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz are the three authors responsible for my being where I am today. I owe them a lot.

I'm a Crank. I'm slowly going crazy. I keep wanting to chew off my own fingers and randomly kill people.

He didn't care about the others anymore. The chaos around him seemed to siphon away his humanity, turn him into an animal. All he wanted was to survive, make it to that building, get inside. Live. Gain another day.