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.

But hope is no less realistic than despair. It is still our choice whether to live in light or lie down in darkness.

When you look death in the eye and death blinks first, nothing seems impossible.

Sarcasm doesn't appear to work on him. If that's true, I'm in trouble: It's my normal mode of communication.

You are the human clay," Vosch whispers fiercely in my ear. "And I am Michelangelo. I am the master builder, and you will be my masterpiece.

His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.

The harder survival becomes, the more you want to pull together. And the more you want to pull together, the harder survival becomes.