No need to continually insist upon your unshakable masculinity.

It doesn't take skill to stand in a place were no bullets find you, or to fire into the dark and hit a man you didn't see.

We share a common enemy, but does that make us friends?

A sob racks my body again, and he wraps his arms around me so tightly I find it difficult to breathe, but it doesn't matter. My dignified weeping gives way to full-on ugliness, my mouth open and my face contorted and sounds like a dying animal coming from my throat. If this continues I will break apart, and maybe that would be better, maybe it would be better to shatter and bear nothing.

If you actually succeed in creating a utopia, you've created a world without conflict, in which everything is perfect. And if there's no conflict, there are no stories worth telling - or reading!

I feel empty, not because of sadness, but because of relief, all the tension flowing out of me.

You chose us. Now we have to choose you.