Quiet through the grave go I; or else beneath the graves I lie

Finishing books - and leaving the world you've created - is always a kind of emotionally wrenching experience. I usually cry.

Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?" "I don't know any other way." "Let me show you." And then we're kissing. Or at least, I think we're kissing—I've only seen it done a couple of times, quick closed-mouth pecks at weddings or on formal occasions. But this isn't like anything I've ever seen, or imagined, or even dreamed: this is like music or dancing but better than both.

But from the beginning, I knew that in a world where destiny was dead, I was destined, forever, to love him. Even though he didn't - though he couldn't - ever love me back.

The Story of Solomon is the only way I know how to explain. And then, in smaller letters: Forgive me.

Because?' I prompt 'Because I'm sorry, but I can't help it, and I really need to kiss you right now.

So many things become beautiful when you really look.