I recognise Santangelo's dad, who saves police brutality for when he gets to his son.

City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure.

Because today, I think I'm leaning on the side of wonder.

Everything hurts, every single thing including the weight of him and I'm crying because it hurts and he's telling me he's sorry over and over again, and I figure somewhere down the track we'll work out the right way of doing this but I don't want to let go, because tonight I'm not looking for anything more than being a part of him. Because being a part of him isn't just anything. It's kind of everything.

You can't think for other people. Nor can you feel for them or be them. They have to do that for themselves.

And through all the misery, she said that some of us in this lifetime experience a moment of beauty beyond reckoning. I asked her what that was, and she said, "If you're one of the lucky ones, you'll know it when you see it. You'll understand why the gods have made you suffer. Because that moment's reward will make your knees weak and everything you've suffered in life will pale in comparison.

We were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors," she told him once. "I was paper and she was rock so I lived and she died.