You loved me as hard as you knew how. I'd give anything to go back and love you better.

Sooner or later a black car came for everyone.

I'll take the shooting. I'm used to that. I've been shot a few times in the past, and I guess I can stand it, again.

She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.

Aren't you going to tell me I'm not so bad? she asked. Mmm-no. I was thinking how every man loves a hot girl with a history of making mistakes. Because it's always possible she'll make one with you.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

Terror is the desire to save your own ass, but horror is rooted in sympathy.