I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.

No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

It is a beautiful world for the people who get to play the fist.

Everything looks stark and vivid and frozen, as though drawn precisely and outlined in ink - parents' smiles frozen, camera flashes blinding, mouths open and white teeth glinstening, dark glossy hair and deep blue sky and unrelenting light, everyone drowning in light - everything so clear and perfect I'm sure it must already be a memory, or a dream.

people do terrible things, sometimes, for the best reasons.

Lies are just stories, and stories are all that matter. We all tell stories. Some are more truthful than others, maybe, but in the end the only thing that counts is what you can make people believe.

No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other and the rest of the world can go to hell.