“You know how we can be about things which sparkle and shine. We imagine they will put back something of what has been lost.”

“But we did it," said Alys. "We found Morgana and we helped her. How can you worry about detentions when life as we know it has just been saved?”

“So, are you telling me we're lost?""Not yet," Eli said."But you have no idea where we are.""Not really.""That means 'lost' in my book," Sam said. "What's the difference between having no idea where we are and being lost?""Having no idea where we are on the lake is one thing, but if I can get a clue about which direction is which, then I will know which way to go," Eli said."Still sounds like lost to me," Sam muttered.”

“We do what we do because there's something we can do about it. Things like 'how long' and 'what if' aren't part of that. It's about the hope, not the horror.”

“Reading," he says, "is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead....""Or that is not present because it does not yet exist, something desire, feared, possible or impossible," Ludmilla says. "Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be....”

“Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.”