Is that all souls are for? For when we die?" "No. They're for living, too.

Some would assert that Providence was at work shaking out its pockets in Humanity's lap. Other would argue for that mindless choreographer, Chance. Either way it was a simple thing: a lost diary fell into the hands of a soul-sick war hero on a train from Bombay to Jaipur just when he'd grown tired of the scenery and needed something to keep his thoughts from the minefield of his wretched thoughts. In such mild ways is the groundwork laid for first kisses and ruined lives.

What are we fighting for? What are we killing for? What do you see when you look into the future?

...magic was ugly—-a hard bargain with the universe, a calculus of pain.

It was as if she had emitted a pulse of radiation that reached him even where he stood, and it bathed him and it burned him.

Perhaps Fate laid out your life for you like a dress on a bed, and you could either wear it or go naked.

She tasted of fairytales