“Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you writeAnd kind of turn themselves into knivesAnd don't mind my nerve you can call it fiction'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear'Cause here we are, here we areAlthough you were biased, I love your adviceYour comebacks they're quick and probably Have to do with your insecuritiesThere's no shame in being crazy depending on how you take theseWords they're paraphrasing this relationship we're stagingAnd it's a beautiful mess, yes, it isIt's like we're picking up trash in dresses”

“The more we're connected to our chosen someone, the more we can pick up what they're feeling. It's instinctive, like breathing.""You can't hold your breath?”

“To most of society being crazy is like a virus. If we're out and about in public people think they can catch the craziness from us or something. It's much easier for them to separate us and forget we ever existed. Almost like being quarantined. I used to see a psychiatrist before I was brought here. I remember the way my mother's friends used to gossip about it. They wouldn't let me play with their children. It's kind of like women who are divorced nowadays. Other women don't talk to them. They're usually shunned.”A dull ache throbs in my side and I clench my fists.“It’s like we're tossed out trash.” Aurora smiles. “That's a great analogy, Adelaide.”

“I think we go well together. I like being with you because I'm never bored. Even when we're not talking, even when we're not touching, even when we're not in the same room, I'm not bored. I'm never bored. I think it's because I have confidence in you, in your thoughts. Do you understand? I love everything I see in you, and everything I don't see. I know your faults, but as it turns out, I feel as though your faults go well with my qualities. We're not afraid of the same things. Even our inner demons go well together! You, you're worth more than you show...”

“Wait, Alden. I really don't want to meet your friends dressed like this." "They're your friends too. And you look fantastic. I love the school uniform. You have great legs." "Shut up!" I gasped. "I thought you were and old man!" "Old soul. Young man. Big difference. It's okay, though; we're just friends, remember?”

“--Why are we fighting them?--They're mad. We're sane.--How do we know?--That we're sane?--Yes.--Am I sane?--To all appearances.--And you, do you consider yourself sane?--I do.--Well, there you have it.--But don't they also consider themselves sane?--I think they know. Deep down. That they're not sane.--How must that make them feel?--Terrible, I should think. They must fight ever more fiercely, in order to deny what they know to be true. That they are not sane.”