For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.

We'll squeeze every second that we can from our lives, because we're young, and we have plenty of years to grow. We'll grow until we're braver. We'll grow until our bones ache and our skin wrinkles and our hair goes white, and until our hearts decide, at last, that it's time to stop.

What have you done? What have you given up?' So many things, Cecily. More than you know.

Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky.

Did you tell freedom hello for me?

I wonder what it’s like for her, looking so much like a dead girl.

Do you know what my father used to say?" I ask her. "He used to say that songs had a heart. A crescendo that can make all your blood rush from your head to your toes.