There's always some relief in giving up.

This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.

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

Welcome to the free world. We give people the power to choose. They can even choose the wrong thing. Beautiful, isn't it?

For a second I think about how easy it would be to pass back to the other side, to walk straight into the laboratories and offer myself up to the surgeons. You were right; I was wrong. Get it out.

It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.

What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.