“the child would ask him questions about the world that for him was not even a memory. He thought hard how to answer. There is no past.”

“She glared at him. "Why are you forever asking hard questions?"He smiled. "Sooner or later you'll have to be able to answer one."Daja shoved him, grinning.”

“Would you trade him in order to undo the past?"That's a question I can't answer.”

“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?!”

“There is a saying, if any stranger enquire of the first met of Maan, were it even a child, “Who is here the sheykh?” he would answer him “I am he.”

“The question wasn't whether or not I cared about him; the question was, how much? I'm glad Tennyson didn't ask that, because then I'd have to ask myself; and I already knew the answer. I cared far more than was safe.”