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

God doesn't call the equipped, son. God equips the called. And you have been called.

But monsters, I now know, come in all shapes and sizes, and only their appetite for human flesh defines them.

Do you know how to tell who the enemy is, Cassie?

But if I'm it, the last of my kind, the last page of human history, like hell I'm going to let the story end this way. I may be the last one, but I am the one still standing. I am the one turning to face the faceless hunter in the woods on an abandoned highway. I am the one not running but facing. Because if I am the last one, then I am humanity. And if this is humanity's last war, then I am the battlefield.

What boy my age didn’t dream of fleeing the well-tended lawn and lamp-lit street for the untamed wilderness, where grand adventure awaited on the other side of the horizon, where the stars burned undimmed in the velvet sky above his head and the virgin ground lay untrodden beneath his feet?

Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.