“Not Exactly TrueThat skin hate is dead.There will never be colorblindness in a culture offear.But when you live afraidof your neighbor, the monsteryou should most walkin terror ofthrives.It starts as a little thing,small enough to burrowinto your pores, take upexcruciating residenceinthe dark recesses of your brain.Its name is paranoia,and it spreads like an oilspill, there inthe shadows,chokes your humanity.Threatens your soul.”

“When you live afraid of your neighbor, the monster you should most walk in terror of thrives.”

“There will never be colorblindness in a culture offear.”

“But how many young people truly comprehend the face of war until it's staring them down? You can't patrol unfriendly villages without embracing paranoia. You can't watch your battle buddies blown to bits without jonesing for revenge. You can't take a blow to the helmet without learning to duck. And you can't put people in your crosshairs, celebrate dropping them to the ground, without catching a little bloodlust. Paranoia. Revenge. Bloodlust. These things turn boys into men. But what kind of men?”

“You can have your pick of pretty women. Why me?You're like the ocean, Pattyn. Pretty enough on the surface, but dive down into your depths, you'll find beauty most people never see. Lucky me. I fell in, headfirst.”

“When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?”

“...Things happenedwhen you were little. Things youdon't remember now, and don't wantto. But they need to escape,need to worm their way outof that dark place in your brainwhere you keep them stashed.”