That's the way I feel, at least: like there's a real me and a reflection of me, and I have no way of telling which is which.

That's what Zombieland is: frozen, calm, quiet.

That’s what made it so frightening to the lawmakers: Love obeys no laws other than its own.

They've lied about everything.-about the fence, and the existence of Invalids, about a million other things besides. They told us the raids were carried out for our own protection. They told us the regulators were only interested in keeping the peace. They told us love was a disease. They told us it would kill us in the end. For the very first time I realize, that this, too, maight also be a lie.

My heart is drumming in my chest so hard it aches, but it's the good kind of ache, like the feeling you get on the first real day of autumn, when the air is crisp and the leaves are all flaring at the edges and the wind smells just vaguely of smoke - like the end and the beginning of something all at once.

I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.

Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.