“Lusa turned to Crys, her eyes shining. "That was a luna."Crys shrugged. "So?""So? So what? You want it should sing, too?”

“Sometimes a thing is—too much—and it has to be isolated and put away." Martin shrugged. "So what's in the boxes is—emotion. In the form of objects."-Her Fearful Symmetry”

“I wished my mother was here tonight, which is stupid, because it’s an impossible wish.” He shrugs and turns to me, drowning the smile that cracks me every time. “It’s not stupid to want to see her again.” “It wasn’t so much that I wanted to see her again,” he says, looking at me with the depth of more than seventeen years in his eyes. “I wanted her to see you.”

“What is it like to be so free - so trapped, but so free? What kind of bird sings only when caught? What kind of slave outshines and rises above her master?”

“And oh I want so much to sing, I tell myself no. But it is so hard to keep from singing.”

“I love you so much, Robbie. Sometimes it feels like too much.” His heart lurched as her eyes welled up. “But I trust it. I want it. And I want you. Always.”