We're on the other side of the fence now, Lena,' she says, tiredly, as she passes. "Don't you get it? You can't tell me what to feel.

And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.

Of all the miracles Po had seen in the time and space of its death, Po thought this--the absorption of another, the carrying of it--was the most bewildering and remarkable of all. Whenever Bundle separated again, Po was left with an ache of sadness that reminded the ghost of the body it had left behind.

I need him to know that I came for him. I need him to know that somehow, at some point in the tunnels, I began to love him.

Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.

you have to understand. i wasn't just thinking of me. i was thinking of her, too.

We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.