“This is it--what all the hoopla is about, what Wuthering Heights is about--it all boils down to this feeling rushing through me in this moment with Joe as our mouths refuse to part. Who knew all this time I was one kiss away from being Cathy and Juliet and Elizabeth Bennet and Lady Chatterley!?”

“According to all the experts, it's time for me to talk about what I'm going through... I can't. I'd need a new alphabet, one made of falling, of tectonic plates shifting, of the deep devouring dark.”

“But then I think about my sister and what a shell-less turtle she was and how she wanted me to be one too. C'mon, Lennie, she used to say to me at least ten times a day. C'mon Len. And that makes me feel better, like it's her life rather than her death that is now teaching me how to be, who to be.”

“He doesn’t have to say it, I feel it too; it’s not subtle - like every bell for miles and miles is ringing at once, loud and clanging, hungry ones and tiny, happy, chiming ones, all of them sounding off in this moment. I put my hands around his neck, pull him to me, and then he’s kissing me hard and so deep, and i am flying, sailing, soaring…”

“I want to thank him for not making me say a word, and getting it all the same, but I just remain silent as the sun pours heat and light, as if from a pitcher, all over our bewildered heads.”

“At night,when we were little,we tented Bailey's covers,crawled underneath with our flashlightsand played cards: Hearts,Whist, Crazy Eights, and our favourite: Bloody Knuckles.The competition was vicious,All day, every day,we were the Walker Girls -two peas in a podthick as thieves -but when Gram closed the doorfor the night,we bared our teeth.We played for chores,for slave duty,for truths and dares and money.We played to be better, brighter,to be more beautiful,more,just more.But it was all a ruse -we playedso we could fall asleepin the same bedwithout having to ask,so we could wrap togetherlike a braid,so while we sleptour dreams could switch bodies.(Found written on the inside cover of Wuthering Heights, Lennie's room)”

“He's bent over the strings tuning his guitar with such passionate attention I almost feel I should look away but I can't. In fact I'm full on gawking wondering what it would be like to be cool and casual and fearless and passionate and so freaking alive just like he is- and for a split second I want to play with him. I want to disturb the birds. Later as he plays and plays as all the fog burns away I think he's right. That's exactly it- I am crazy sad and somewhere deep inside all I want is to fly.”