“Good people see past their own fucking lives.”

“Everything dies eventually. We all know that. People, cities, whole civilizations. Nothing lasts. So if existence was just binary, dead or alive, here or not here, what would be the fucking point in anything? My mom used to say that's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory - hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.”

“Life only makes any sense if we can see time how God does. Past, present, and future all at once.”

“Humanity’s debut novel you could say. Love, sex, blood, and tears. A journey to find eternal life. To escape death. It was written over four thousand years ago on clay tablets by people who tilled the mud and rarely lived past forty. It’s survived countless wars, disasters, and plagues, and continues to fascinate to this day, because here I am, in the midst of modern ruin, reading it.”

“There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.”

“I know I'm not going to say good-bye. And if these staggering refugees want to help, if they think they see something bigger here than a boy chasing a girl, then they can help, and we'll see what happens when we say yes while the rigor mortis world screams no.”

“Came to . . . see you.”“But I had to go home, remember? You were supposed to say good-bye.”“Don't know why you . . . say good-bye. I say . . . hello.”Her lip quivers between reactions, but she ends up with a reluctant smile. “God you're a cheeseball. But seriously, R—”