“Oh come on, Emma. Admit it. You were dreaming about having sex with me. I must've been good if you were about to come."She snorted exasperatedly. "I'm surprised you're even asking about how good you were. Don't you always think you're amazing?”

“What were you dreaming about?""You." He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. "I always dream about you.""Oh, yeah? Because I thought you were having a nightmare."He tipped his head back to look at her. "Sometimes I dream you're gone," he said. "I keep wondering when you'll figure out how much better you could do and leave me.”

“I don't understand what makes them come out like that!""Hunger," said Jem. "Were you thinking about blood?""No""Were you thinking about eating me?" Will inquired."No!”

“I didn't think about how it might have changed me. But I watched my brothers give their hearts away and I think, Don't you know better? Hearts are breakable and I think even when you heal, you're never what you were before.”

“Even when there were good wars to write about, writers such as Jane Austen wrote novels concerning marriage. They usually went like this:'You're being a real jerk.''Sorry about that. I was secretly helping you.''Oh, you're wonderful! And you have so much money! You're my new favorite cousin!''Let's get married."The End.”

“Once, in a spasm of sappiness, you asked Q-Jo if she thought your dreams would ever come true. 'You aren't talking about dreams,' she corrected you, 'you're referring to your pathetic bourgeoisie ambitions. Dreams don't come true. Dreams are true.”