Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt.

So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than ... I don't know,more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.

I choose you over everyone.

Things she knew now, that she hadn't known two hours ago: Park was covered with skin. Everywhere.

But it’s up to us …’ he said softly. ‘It’s up to us not to lose this

Reegan scowled at Cath. "Are you Zack, or are you Cody?".