“There's a part of me that thinks perhaps we go on existing in a place even after we've left it.”

“There is something that happens to the mind in moments of terror. Perhaps we figure it's the last we'll ever have and we record it for the rest of our long journey. We take perfect snapshots an album to despair over. We trim the edges and place them in plastic. We tuck the scrapbook away to take out in our ruined times.”

“It's about fear. You know! They're all throbbing with fear. We all are.... Bits of it floating in the air. It's like dust. You walk about and don't see it, don't notice it, but it's there and it's all coming down, covering everything. You're breathing it in. You touch it. You drink it. You eat it. But it's so fine you don't notice it. But you're covered in it. It's everywhere. What I mean is, we're afraid. Just stand still for an instant and there it is, this fear, covering our faces and tongues. If we've stopped to take account of it, we'd just fall into despair. But we can't stop. We've for to keep going.”

“People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.”

“Even if you're going to die, you might as well die pretty.”

“You can count the dead, but you can't count the cost. We've got no math for Heaven...”

“The person we know at first, she thinks, is not the one we know at last.”