“I turn and walk out, knowing exactly how many steps will take me away from that monster. Once again wishing I were Fia, Fia who could have killed him with her bare hands.Fia who is impossible broken because she can do just that.”

“There’s another story I know. This one doesn’t have any swords or visions. This one is about a boy who found a girl during a terrible time.” “How did it turn out?” “I don’t know, but I do know the boy doesn’t regret it. Not a minute. No matter how it turns out. Because he’s been waiting for this girl from the time she was born, and if it takes another thousand years to meet her again, he’d wait again. Whatever it takes.”

“But I trusted him once and I decide to do it again. I just pray to God he doesn’t shove me down and break me, because I’m already in too many pieces and I just don’t know how much more breaking I can take.”

“The monster I kill every day is the monster of realism. The monster who attacks me every day is destruction. Out of the duel comes the transformation. I turn destruction into creation over and over again.”

“I know a man who drives 600 yards to work. I know a woman who gets in her car to go a quarter of a mile to a college gymnasium to walk on a treadmill, then complains passionately about the difficulty of finding a parking space. When I asked her once why she didn't walk to the gym and do five minutes less on the treadmill, she looked at me as if I were being willfully provocative. 'Because I have a program for the treadmill,' she explained. 'It records my distance and speed, and I can adjust it for degree of difficulty.' It hadn't occurred to me how thoughtlessly deficient nature is in this regard.”

“I wish I knew how to turn the volume down on the sadness in this girl’s eyes. I wish I could take her out of this dark, smelly alley and tuck her away some place safe.”