“I'M SCOTTISH!”

“And this, even more wonderful and mysterious, is also true: when I read it, when I read what Julie's written, she is instantly alive again, whole and undamaged. With her words in my mind while I'm reading, she is as real as I am. Gloriously daft, drop-dead charming, full of bookish nonsense and foul language, brave and generous. She's right here. Afraid and exhausted, alone, but fighting. Flying in silver moonlight in a plane that can't be landed, stuck in the climb—alive, alive, ALIVE.”

“And I envied her that she had chosen her work herself and was doing what she wanted to do. I don't suppose I had any idea what I 'wanted' and so I was chosen, not choosing. There's glory and honor in being chosen. But not much room for free will.”

“He just put his hand through the bulkhead, exactly as she'd done, and squeezed my shoulder. He has very strong fingers.And he kept his hand there the whole way home, even when he was reading the map and giving me headings.So I am not flying alone now after all.”

“Please come back soon. The window is always open.”

“A whore, we've established that, filthy, it goes without saying, but whatever else the hell I am, I AM NOT ENGLISH.”

“It's impossible to stall a Lizzie.”