“Don't worry about hurting me, if that's what you're afraid of. I want to get hurt. At least I´ll feel something for a change.”

“He pulled back, barely a fraction, but I knew he was hurt. Why was it so easy to do that these days? For both of us. He wouldn't want to talk about something, and I'de be hurt. Or I wouldn't want to talk about something, and he'd be hurt. Or he'd invite me along with the guys, and I'd analyze every nuance of his voice and expression, worrying that he really didn't want me along, was only being polite. Or, like the other night, I'd want to comfort him, but would be worried about how he might misinterpret that.It never used to be like this. Maybe that's just part of having a close friend of the opposite sex. As a kid, you don't think anything about it. Then you're a teenager, and you can't help but think about it.”

“I'm afraid. I know L. I don't want you to get hurt. I won't. What if you do. I'll wait for you. Even if I'm dark? Even if you're very very dark.”

“Don't worry, I won't bite. At least not in the way you're afraid of.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Mistress Weatherwax," said Mrs Gogol."That's good," said Granny. "I don't want you to hurt me either.”

“Maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or someone you're afraid to love, or somewhere you're afraid to go. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters.”