“Birdy never felt artistic inclination when armed with a marking implement. What came to her were words, always words, commentary and criticism and correction and simple vocabulary curios; she scratched a few of them on the smooth red wall.”

“I'm graduating and she corrected my vocabulary the other day. I said I felt nauseous, and she said the word I wanted was nauseated. Fucked me up, bro. Didn't know there was a difference.”

“Birdie is silent. She is tired of soon. Soon is round and smooth, without never’s honest jagged edges. Soon is like the End of the World, always approaching but never arriving. Soon is the excuse people use when nothing ever happens on time.”

“Her words were as sharp as an eyeful of sand. She never raised her voice. It was the kind of voice that never needed to be raised. It cut words to a fine point and launched them decisively (page 88).”

“When she got control of herself a few minutes later, she realized that in his arms she felt almost what she had in her dream, that inexpressible sense of peace and security. Of belonging, utterly.As long as her soulmate was alive, and they were together, she would be all right.”

“Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.”