Maybe you can afford to wait. Maybe for you there's a tomorrow. Maybe for you there's one thousand tomorrows, or three thousand, or ten, so much time you can bathe in it, roll around it, let it slide like coins through you fingers. So much time you can waste it. But for some of us there's only today. And the truth is, you never really know.

...into hate, into refusal, against hope and without fear

Perfection is a promise, and a reassurance that we are not wrong.

I have had to give up so much, so many selves and lives already. I have grown up and out of the rubble of my old lives, of things and people I have cared for.

This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.

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

If you take, we will take back. Steal from us, and we will rob you blind. When you squeeze, we will hit. This is the way the world is made now.