“But it is clear to me that our survival—both yours and mine—will be dictated by how well you and I can work together.” “So we’re screwed?”

“We’re so screwed. (Cassandra)Yeah, well, I don’t let anyone screw me until they kiss me, and since there’s not even a snowball’s chance in hell of me kissing that bastard, we’re not screwed. (Wulf)”

“Why aren't the two of you together?'The directness of her question throws me. 'I don't know. Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities... to get together with someone. And we've both screwed up so many times - that we've missed our chance.”

“Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities . . . to get together with someone. And we’ve both screwed up so many times”—my voice grows quiet—“that we’ve missed our chance.”

“Things are going so well. We’re volleying words back and forth. Everything she says, I have something I can say back. We’re sparking, and part of me just wants to sit back and watch. We’re clicking. Not because a part of me is fitting into a part of her. But because our words are clicking into each other to form sentences and our sentences are clicking into each other to form dialogue and our dialogue is clicking together to form this scene from this ongoing movie that’s as comfortable as it is unrehearsed.”

“You're both so screwed up alone that together you're like the perfect mess.”