I was woefully ignorant in the social graces. I was being raised, after all, by Pellinore Warthrop.

There are things that are too terrible to remember, and there are things that are almost too wonderful to recall.

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

A moment comes in war when the last line must be crossed. The line that separates what you hold dear from what total war demands. If he couldn't cross that line, the battle was over, and he was lost. His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield. With a cry only he could hear, the hunter turned. And ran.

He asks me what happened to my leg. I told him I was shot by a shark. He doesn't react. Doesn't seem confused or amused or anything. Like getting shot by a shark is a perfectly natural thing in the aftermath of the arrival.

It isn't that the lies are too beautiful to resist. It's that the truth is too hideous to face.

Then the door flew open and Mr. Faulks told us to head over to the gym. I thought that was really smart. Get all of us in one place so the aliens didn't have to waste a lot of ammunition.