Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.

I think, in this strange world of beautiful things, there may be some humanity after all.

I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?

I like the idea of something greater than us. We destroy things with our curiosity. We shatter with our best intentions. We are no closer to perfection than we were one hundred years ago, or five hundred.

She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.

I had this feeling like the solution to everything would be down there if only I could dig through all those clouds.

He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.