“I had my father again.I had Bram back. We were a newly fashioned crew of soldiers and inventors and cheeky teenagers, armed with an airship and plenty or guns. We could, in theory, pack it all in if we wanted to, and strike out for part unknown. Colonize some little forgotten island, somewhere, and continue our adventures. Live generously; die gloriously.”

“It seemed to me that all things were possible on the island, all tyrannies and cruelties, though in small; and if, in despite of what was possible, we lived at peace with another, surely this was proof that certain laws unknown to us held sway, or else that we had been following the promptings of our hearts all this time, and our hearts had not betrayed us.”

“We want Max to... breed. To produce heirs. Who will govern the world after she dies."Dead silence for quite some time. We all stared at Dr. Hans, our jaws dropped to various levels. Our lives had reached a new low of inhumanity.My face flushed. Part of me had assumed, hoped, that if Fang and I lived long enough, we would get married. Maybe have a little flock of our own. But i really hadn't planned it all out. And he was gone now, anyway. How could I possibly ever find someone...My eyes scanned Dylan's face, I saw his discomfort."Oh, no," I said in horror."Yes," Angel confirmed. "Freaking unbelievable.”

“We were so wholly one I had not thoughtThat we could die apart. I had not thoughtThat I could move,—and you be stiff and still!That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb!I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woofIn some firm fabric, woven in and out;Your golden filaments in fair designAcross my duller fibre.”

“Our fathers had bequeathed us nothing but memories. A fire had stripped me of all tangible tokens, save my little hat; Alistair Warthrop had taken most of what had belonged to Pellinore. What remained of them was simply us, and when we departed, so would they. We were the tablets upon which their lives were writ.”

“We were anxious to begin our life as people who had no people. And it was easy to find an apartment because we had no standards; we were just amazed that it was *our* door, *our* rotting carpet, *our* cockroach infestation... We were excited about getting jobs; we hardly went anywhere without filling out an application. But once we were hired—as furniture sanders—we could hardly believe this was really what people did all day. Everything we had thought of as The World was actually the result of someone's job. Each line on the sidewalk, each saltine. Everyone had rotting carpet and a door to pay for. Aghast, we quit. There had to be a more dignified way to live. We needed time to consider ourselves, to come up with a theory about who we were and to set it to music.”