“Petra turned to her. "Everybody lies about who they are. Name one person here who isn't doing that and I will drop out right now!"Shanti felt that snake of truth coil around her legs, threatening to squeeze. "I didn't mean...""No one ever does." Petra said, shoving the baton back at Shanti.”

“So, then...” Petra interjected, caught up for the moment in the story, “nobody knows who was right?“Who was right?” Growland repeated slowly. “How do you mean?”“In the war.” As she tried to articulate her question, she became less sure of it. “You don't know which side was... right?”“Cub,” the big bear explained patiently, “nobody has ever gone to war believing their cause to be wrong!”“Well, sure, I get that. But afterwards... don't people usually... figure out... who was really right?” she finished lamely.“What people?”“I don't know!” Petra said, flinging her arms wide. “Historians, maybe?”Jumphrey snorted and removed his pipe from between his teeth. “Historians are people, and people have opinions and sympathies. I think if you pay attention, you'll find that histories usually demonstrate that the winning side was in the right all along; or else, occasionally, they demonstrate that those who won are despots and tyrants who deserved to be fought against, and still should be. You see? Everyone has a perspective. If you convened a representative post-war council to discuss what started the conflict and who ought to have given way to whom, a new war would break out from their arguments.”Petra felt her spirits slump a little. “But then... how–”“As everyone has always done,” the rabbit answered. “You pray that war does not come. But if it does come, you fight in accordance with your own convictions, or to defend the home or people you love; or you take a vow of pacifism, and follow your conscience some other way, if you are allowed. Whatever the political justification for war is said to be, armies are invariably made up of ordinary people fighting for the most basic of ideas, the simplest of reasons. 'Sides' are largely determined by the happenstance of birth, nothing more.”“That's... tragic,” Petra said, realizing a truth she'd heard before but never really processed.Jumphrey shrugged, and said simply, “All war is.”

“I study her,” Patch said. “I figure out what she’s thinking and feeling. She’s not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold my eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?” Laughter rose in the room. I dropped my hands to my lap. “She’s game,” said Patch, bumping my leg again.Of all things, I blushed.”

“The child is mine and Petra's. It's especially important to us because it's the first we know of that definitely does not have my condition." "You mean it isn't ugly?”

“Knowing can be a curse on a person's life. I'd traded in a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn't know which one was heavier. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because once you know the truth, you can't ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.”

“"Joss""What?""What?" Dylan asked back."You just said my name.""No I didn't""Sorry that was me."I sat up, banging my head on the roof. "Who is that?""Hey, stay down here where the air is good, okay?" Dylan pulled me gently back down. "Hows your head?""Not good, I think.""Um, okay, so you here me. Heather's right, you do think loud. I mean, I've never heard you before, but my Talent seems to be a lot more selective than her's. But now that she's got me turned in to you-""Who are you?""It's still me, Marshall. It's Dylan. I'm right here.""My name's Joel.""Joel?""Joss, what are you talking about?" He took my face in his hands. "Who's Joel?""The voice in my head, I guess.""Jesus.”