“Pretty is different,' he murmured. 'Pretty has no scars. You are...' jaw muscles tensed again. 'Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not 'pretty'. Word's 'breathtaking'.”

“If I don’t wear anything, I’d probably make the food go off, and the children run away screaming. What with all the scars and all. I’m not what one could call particularly pretty.” Unlike you, Vadim, and your goddamned perfection, except for a word cut in blood and flesh.Vadim shook his head, already retreating towards the open door. “'Pretty' is different,” he murmured. “'Pretty' has no scars. You are... Jaw muscles tensed again. “Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not ‘pretty’. Word’s ‘breathtaking’.”

“Pretty words, as pretty women, wrinkle up and die.”

“Pretty words are not always true, true words are not always pretty; and yet, they are still true.”

“I love you,” he murmured. “That means I’m not just here for the pretty parts. I’m here no matter what.”

“You have to get up pretty early in the morning to invent the news.”