Her accent's funny, different from mine, different from anyone in Prentisstown's. Her lips make different kinds of outlines for the letters, like they're swooping down on them from above, pushing them into shape, telling them what to say. In Prentisstown, everyone talks like they're sneaking up on their words, ready to club them from behind.

A book… it’s a world all on its own too. A world made of words, where you live for a while.

We have to lie to ourselves to live. Otherwise, we'd go crazy.

Faith with proof is no faith at all.

Here's what I think," I say and my voice is stronger and thoughts are coming, thoughts that trickle into my noise like whispers of truth. "I think maybe everybody falls," I say. "I think maybe we all do. And I don't think that's the asking." I pull on her arms gently to make sure she's listening. "I think the asking is whether we get back up again.

And it hurts her, but it's an okay hurt, but it hurts still, but it's good, but it hurts.

A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.