“I nod, because I do understand. I'm just not sure how to go about divorcing myself from the evil I've already accepted.”

“I want to open myself, let him inside. But how do I give what has already been taken?”

“The only thing about myself I know for sure is that I don't know anything.”

“I am different. And I don't understand exactly how. And I don't understand just why.”

“Sometimes I'm not so sure just who I am either.”

“I've never known him as a civilian. Never known him as just a regular guy, something I'm not sure he--or any warrior--can ever be again.”

“I'm in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.”