Ninth graders with machine guns: its hard to make that a happy story.

Why are we doing this?" Caine asked him. "You know damned well why we're doing this. Because it's a fight. It may be THE fight. I may be the final fight. And what else are we good at, you and me? What are we going to do if we ever get out there anyway?

It's over, Sam. Finally." "Yeah," he said. "I guess it is." "Turn out the light, Sam." Sam reached for the switch and turned out the light.

Quinn sat back down. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Man, don't you remember taking tests in school? Multiple choice: A, B, C, D, or E, all of the above. "Yeah?" "Dude, sometimes the answer is 'all of the above.' This places needs you. And it needs Astrid. And it needs Sam. It's all of the above, Albert.

Let me guess: you're secretly a wizard who was raised by muggles.

So many things I'm not, and so few things I am.

Beautiful songs could sometimes take a person out of themselves and carry them away to a place of magic. But when Jill sang, it was not about the song, really. She could sing the phone book. She could sing a shopping list. Whatever she sang, whatever the words or the tune, it was so beautiful, so achingly lovely, that no one could listen and be untouched.