“You send me all these roses.Every time I think the last bouquet has arrived, finally, another turns up.I’m running out of vases.I didn’t know roses came in so many colors.You say they’re the perfect symbols of love because they have thorns and love is pain.I say life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.And you don’t get it.You say you love me, but you don’t speak my language.You don’t even realize I’m an orchid girl.”

“I worry hope will crush me, the way love has so many times before.Are they so different, hope and love? O & E in the same place, half of the other in each word.Both swimming in unknowns.I’ve been through the big changes. These ones should seem easier in comparison, I should be more prepared, but they don’t and I’m not.Sometimes I feel like a broken-wing butterfly, clinging to a window screen.Afraid to let go. Afraid to stay.Wondering how much wing is enough to fly.”

“Do you remember all of your audiences?" Marco asks. "Not all of them," Celia says. "But I remember the people who look at me the way you do.""What way might that be?""As though they cannot decide if they are afraid of me or they want to kiss me."" I am not afraid of you," Marco says.”

“Celia, wait,” Marco says, standing but not moving closer to her. “You are breaking my heart. You told me once that I reminded you of your father. That you never wanted to suffer the way your mother did for him, but you are doing exactly that to me. You keep leaving me. You leave me longing for you again and again when I would give anything for you to stay, and it is killing me.” “It has to kill one of us,” Celia says quietly.”

“I believe you have my umbrella" he says, almost out of breath but wearing a grin that has too much wolf in it to be properly sheepish.”

“I have you here, all around me. I sit in the Ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel. I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.”

“You look like a ghost," Bailey says. He can think of no better way to describe it. "You appear the same way to me, so which of us is real?”