“...I deliberately spilled the black ink of despair because my perfect soul was a stained glass illusion - can you understand that?...”

“In a church of my own we're perfect togetherI recognize you in the stained glass”

“But hope, I can tell you, is an exhausting emotion; perhaps, along with fear, the most exhausting of all. It is like juggling eggs: the hope is the shell, and inside is despair. A single crack and the despair might spill everywhere, stain everything.”

“....you were a jumble of broken bits of glass the sun caught and stained my soul with your colors....”

“...I'm innocent still -inside me are stained glass windows that have never been broken- and when I see your light it stains my soul with color ...”

“I feel like everyone who sees me knows what I am. As if it is written on my forehead in bold black ink. Perhaps it is written on my soul, now, and they can see it in my eyes, those windows to my soul.”