His secret name, which belongs to me, and to him, and to no one else.

Love is the only thing in the world worth having. You must never loose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

I love you. Remember. And someday, I will find you again.

I’ve always hated being looked at.

it occurs to me that there is so much I never knew about him--his past, his role in the resistance, what his life was like in the Wilds, before he came to Portland, and I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.

It's funny how you can know your friends so well, but you still end up playing the same games with them.

Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.