A small fact: You are going to die....does this worry you?

It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.

You don't shoot a dog when it is already dead.

When I was growing up, I wanted to be a house painter like my father, but I was always screwing up when I went to work with him. I had a talent for knocking over paint and painting myself into corners. I also realized fairly quickly that painting bored me.

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.