“Hope is a flicker, a candle flame kept burning by the simple act of breathing.”

“Fewer candles flickered. Fewer words were spoken. Fewer breaths were taken.”

“My body is but wax and wick for flame. When the candle burns out, the light shines elsewhere.”

“It's like there are seven candles lit in my stomach. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven candles burning and smoking - lit - seven flames of doubt, fear, sorrow, pain, waste, hopelessness, despair. They turn my insides black with soot and ash. There is something at the back of my eyes - a pressure building, building, building - hot like the flames of seven candles, which no amount of breath can extinguish.”

“I'm a candle flame that sways in currents of air you can't see. You need to be the one who steadies me to burn.”

“The poets say some moths will do anything out of love for a flame[...]The moth takes off again, and we both step back, because he's circling at eye level now and seems to have lost rudder control, smacking into the wall on each round. He circles lower and lower, spinning around the candle in tighter revolutions, like a soap sud over an open drain. A few times he seems to touch the flame, but dances off unhurt.Then he ignites like a ball of hair, curling into an oily puff of fumes with a hiss. The candle flame flickers and dims for a moment, then burns as bright as before.Moth Smoke Lingers.”