Being decent is the only thing that matters in a terrible world like this.

In our town there is a secret spot where you can still see the stars at night, believe it or not. It is the only spot like that left, unclouded by the dwindling skyscrapers rising nearby. It is a good place to go to walk and talk in whispers. Following the little hill that rises from the park to a small clearing which overlooks the statue of the armless general on his bronze steed, most of us later remember this spot as the first place we knew we might be in love.

An act of evil is the death of wonder

It is what we see when we imagine what the afterlife must be like: our happiest triumphs, our most sincere moments, stolen from the seam of our lives, a respite just before the onset of imminent tragedy.

Sex scenes in books are always like first person, from this male perspective and just about how awesome he is. It feels like such a fantasy.

The city glitters past us with its sharp edges, reminding us of how tiny, how weak, how totally unimportant we are.

When she cries, it is quiet, tearless, almost completely imperceptible: one more unheard prayer.