With his back to us, Sean tugs the halter from the mare's head. She kicks out, but he steps out of the way as if it were nothing at all. With a shake of her mane, she leaps mightily into the water. For a moment she struggles over the waves, and then she is swimming. Just a wild black horse in a deep blue sea full of the ashes of other dead boys.

I could live inside a G major chord, with Grace, if she was willing.

Happiness isn't something this island yields easily; the ground is too rocky and the sun too sparse for it to flourish.

I remember being intrigued by the idea of school-in-a-box, just-add-water-and-Sam.

It's rude to stare, but the great thing about staring at a sedated person is that they don't know you're doing it.

Some people see what they want to see.

Not all. Some of them he probably lectured to death.