But there’s no such thing as free. There are only different and more horrible ways to be enslaved.

I lost everyone I loved," I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, "The day I met you.

When I am writing anything in general, I just want to tell the story that exists in my head; I don't try to write a parable or make a point.

There’s a limit to how much living can be done in a life without freedom.

I miss something I never even had.

My worries always lead to dungeons; I can't imagine a worse thing than to be imprisoned for the rest of one's life, especially with so few years to enjoy what little there is.

No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.