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

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

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

She looks at me out of the side of her uncovered eye. "Chess, Zombie: defending yourself from the move that hasn't happened yet. Does it matter that he doesn't light up through our eyepieces? That he missed us when he could have taken us own? If two possibilities are equally probable but mutually exclusive, which one matters the most? Which one do you bet your life on?

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?

Time for the world to end.

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?