A martyr's just a casualty with really good PR.

I was still wearing my shoes. The staff was paid to wash the sheets after every visit, and by the point we left the field, I’d dressed and undressed so many times in the course of decontamination that I never wanted to remove my clothes again. I’d just wear them until they dissolved, and then spend the rest of my life naked.

No one should be posing for duck-lipped selfies with the plaque of the dead. That wouldn't be right.

When Rome burned, the emperor's cats still expected to be fed on time.

Things it is not polite to discuss at the dinner table: politics, religion, and the walking dead.

I really don’t think you should put your hand inside the manticore, dear. You don’t know where it’s been.” –Enid Healy

That’s where the dreams end: with the realization that it doesn’t matter where I am, whether I think I’m a woman or a fish or something in-between. I’ve never really left the pond. I still can’t breathe.