“October twenty-second..." Lee read, trailing off as she reached the year. Her insides went cold. She whirled around, her voice quavering. "What is this? Don't screw with me!""What is it?" Nasser asked?"The date is wrong." He knew it, of course. He had to know."How wrong?""Seven years wrong!" Lee shrieked. "What is this? Where am I?"Nasser opened his mouth, but all that came out was a series of stammers. Filo glared at him, then turned to Lee. "You want to know what's happening?""Yes," Lee sobbed, nodding feebly. "Please.""Okay," Filo offered. "What do you know about faeries?”

“Why do you want to ask her out?" I asked. "I mean, she's great. But are you just doing this to distract her from Micah and give her a safe alternative? Or do you, um, like her?""Of course he likes her," said Adrian, quick to defend Jill's honor.I had a feeling that there was really no good way for Lee to answer at this point. If he expressed interest in her, Adrian's bizarre chivalric instincts were going to kick in. If Lee wasn't interested, Adrian would no doubt demand to know why Lee didn't want to marry her then and there. It was one of those fascinating — but weird — quirks of Adrian's personality.”

“....I know you've told me you love me, but what do I mean to you?" Dirk was quiet for a long time, and Lee wondered what Dirk was going to say. "Everything." Dirk answered, and Lee realized that sometimes a single word said it all.”

“She won't come back here like that," Lee said weakly. "Lightning never strikes the same place twice, right?"Filo stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame. "No, Lee," he said, giving her a withering look. "A place is never the same after lightning strikes it. I guess that makes you the lightning.”

“It’s absolutely essential that a writer know himself, for until he knows his abilities and limitations, his talents and problems, he will be unable to produce anything of real value. Secondly, you must be able to look coldly at what you do. The writer must know for whom he writes, why he writes, and if his writing says what he means for it to say. Writing is, in a way, a contest of knowing, of seeing the dream, of getting there, and of achieving what you set out to do. The simplest way to reach this goal is to simply say what you mean as clearly and precisely as you know how.--Harper Lee”

“She opened her sketchbook, carefully tore out several pages and handed them to Nasser--three detailed color sketches of three flowers. Leafing through the pages, he translated the message. A petunia: Your presence soothes me. A peppermint flower: warmth of feeling. And heartsease, the flower he'd given her so many times before.You occupy my thoughts."I've been doing a lot of reading," Lee said quietly, setting her sketchbook aside. "You're not the only one who knows what flowers mean.”