“Really?" Olivia managed. It's called conversation, she reminded herself, like a visitor from a foreign planet. Answer one question, ask another. "Where do you live?”

“What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren't you just in another, larger one?”

“After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'I want to see the manager.”

“So what were you doing there?”  Here’s the frustrating thing about Nate, one of those things that happy memories conveniently glossed over.  A lot of times, you had to ask him a question more than once to get a straight answer.  He loved to answer questions you’d never asked, or to answer a question with another question.   “Do I really have to answer that, Kyrie?” See? “Don’t you trust me?”  See?!”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question, darlin'?""Only if you stop calling me darlin'""Now where I come from that's a term of endearment.""Really? Well, where I come from motherfucker is a term of endearment. Want me to start calling you that?”

“Where do we come from? Do souls really exist? I can't answer these questions, especially not at 6am.”