I don't care what the stars say about how small we are. One, even the smallest, weakest, most insignificant one, matters.

Climb onto my shoulders. I will not let you fall.

It's hard to plan for what comes next when what comes next is not something you planned for.

There's the bullshit you know that you know; the bullshit you don't know and know you don't know; and the bullshit you just think you know but really don't.

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

Maybe you reach a certain point in evolution where boredom is the greatest threat to your survival. Maybe this isn't a planetary takeover at all, but a game. Like a kid pulling wings off flies.

I'm here because they've killed almost all of us, but not all of us. And that's their mistake, son. That's the flaw in their plan. Because if you don't kill all of us at once, whoever's left are not going to be the weak ones. The strong ones- and only the strong ones- will survive. The bent but unbroken, if you know what I mean. People like me. And people like you.