The memories seem like snapshots from someone else’s life.

If you want something, if you take it for your own, you'll always be taking it from someone else.

We can never understand. We can only try, fumbling our way through the tunneled places, reaching for light.

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.

People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed.

He Is looking at me through the smoke, across the fence. He never takes his eyes off me. His hair Is a crown of leaves, of thorns, of flames. His eyes are blazing with light, more light than all the lights in every city in the whole world, more light than we could ever invent If we had ten thousand billion years.

A room full of words that are nearly the truth but not quite, each note fluttering off the steam of its rose like a broken butterfly wing.