And I realized a wondrous truth: that knowledge could be our treasure, that there were things humankind knew that we did not, that our conquest need not comprise taking and killing, but could consist of our mutual conquest of ignorance and distrust.

Heaven has fashioned a knife of irony to stab me with.

Haven't you always been more than yourself? Haven't we all? We are none of us just one thing.

The world inside myself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods.

The truth may not be told. Here is an acceptable lie.

I was drawn to his aloofness, the way cats gravitate toward people who’d rather avoid them.

I cannot perch among those who think that I am broken.