“You are in my blood. I can't help it. We can't be anywhere except together.”

“You can't doubt so much, Psyche”

“But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.”

“It’s so sick,” Duck said. “I nicked myself shaving that last night at home, and I saw my own blood and I thought, How could I live in a world where this exists—where love can become death? Even if the doctor says we’re okay, how could we go on watching people die?” Duck buried his face against Dirk’s shoulder and the streetlamp light shone in through the window, lighting up Duck’s hair. Dirk stroked Duck’s head. “I don’t know. But we’ve got to be together,” he said.”

“Why else were we here except to love?”

“I saw my own blood and I thought, how could I live in a world where this exists- where love can become death?”

“At first we raced through space, like shadows and light; her rants, my raves; her dark hair, my blonde; black dresses, white. She's a purple-black African-violet-dark butterfly and I a white moth. We were two wild ponies, Dawn and Midnight, the wind electrifying our manes and our hooves quaking the city; we were photo negatives of each other, together making the perfect image of a girl.”