Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.

We are the hunters---and we are also the bait.

I'm not encouraged by the silence. I can think of no benign reason for it. I'm afraid we may expect something closer to Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas than a scene from Close Encounters, and we all know how that turned out for the Native Americans.

It wasn't aliens that first made us gear up for war; it was our fellow humans.

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

I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.

Prayers and promises. The one his sister made to him. The unspoken one I made to my sister. Prayers are promises, too, and these are the days of broken promises.