I used to have only one name; it used to mean something.

It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

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.

When we're alive, life consumes us. But when we die, all of the color and the motion is gone so quickly, it's as though it can no longer stand to be wasted on us.

I miss something I never even had.

Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.

There's a sort of dead passion in him. A spark that, had he more years to live, would be a wildfire.