You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love.

Climb onto my shoulders. I will not let you fall.

We’re here, and then we’re gone, and it’s not about the time we’re here, but what we do with the time.

I was a slave to something he believed to be silly and superstitious: the idea that all life was worth defending and that nothing justified surrender to the forces of destruction.

If I had faced it then, I wouldn't be facing it now, but sooner or later you have to choose between running and facing the thing you thought you could not face.

And red is not the color of apples or roses or the dresses that pretty girls wear in the summertime. That is not the color of red at all.

Perhaps God waits for us to be empty, so he may fill us with himself.