I wasn’t sure which of us was being more selfish—her, for wanting something that no one could promise, or me, for not promising her something that was too painfully impossible to want.

I think-I need to ask an embarrassing question. Do you think I could borrow a pair of scrubs? I-uh-my pants-" "Oh!" Cried the poor nurse. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll be right back." [...] "Thanks," I mumbled. "I'll just change here. He's not looking at anything at the moment." I gestured toward Sam, who was looking convincingly sedated. The nurse vanished through the curtains. Sam eye's flashed open again, distinctly amused. He whispered, "Did you just tell that man you went potty on yourself?" "You.Shut.UP." I hissed back furiously.

His face was just strange enough that she wanted to keep looking at it.

It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.

Being Adam Parrish was a complicated thing, a wonder of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves. He was a miracle of moving parts, a study in survival. The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master. This was the important thing. It had always been the important thing. This was what it was to be Adam.

Fro and to in my dreams to you To the haunting tune of the harp For the price I paid when you died that day I paid that day with my heart Fro and to in my dreams to you With the breaking of my heart Ne'er more again will I sing this song Ne'er more will I hear the harp.

I'm an equation that only she solves, these X's and Y's by other names called. My way of dividing is desperately flawed as I multiply the days without her" - Page 165