Nothing makes us love something more than the loss of it.

There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?

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

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

There are those who labor in the darkness, that the rest of us might live in the light.

To hold on, you have to find something you’re willing to die for.

Memories can bring comfort to the old and infirm, but memories can also be implacable foes, a malicious army of temporal ghosts forever pillaging the long-sought-after peace of our twilight years.