I didn't know anything about writing a screenplay, but somehow I ended up rewriting a screenplay.

There are those hearts, reader, that never mend again once they are broken. Or if they do mend, they heal themselves in a crooked and lopsided way, as if sewn together by a careless craftsman. Such was the fate of Chiaroscuro. His heart was broken. Picking up the spoon and placing it on his head, speaking of revenge, these things helped him to put his heart together again. But it was, alas, put together wrong.

The world is dark, and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. You must trust me. I am telling you a story.

Love!' said the princess. She stamped her foot. 'Why must everyone always speak of love?

There are so many difficult things and stories can make them palatable. That's the way I have always felt.

[He] had the soul of a poet, and because of this, he liked very much to consider questions that had no answers.

During the night, while Bull and Lucy slept, Edward, with ever-open eyes, stared up at the constellations. He said their names, and then he said the names of the people who loved him. He started with Abilene, and then went on to Nellie and Lawrence and from there to Bull and Lucy, and then he ended again with Abilene: Abilene, Nellie, Lawrence, Bull, Lucy, Abilene. See? Edward told Pellegrina. I am not like the princess. I know about love.