“I said nothing. If she wasn't careful, everyone would rush out of her life, life out of a burning building.”

“I felt as though I was rushing into a burning building to discover the ideas I needed for my own life.”

“She's forgetting,' Ellen said to Jack, plumping herself down on a chair. 'All of her life is leaking out of her. Soon there will be nothing left.”

“She wasn't going to sit down and patiently wait for a miracle to help her. She was going to rush into life and wrest from it what she could.”

“The box room. No bigger than a coffin. It would be like being buried. Maybe she wouldn't keep her Barbies after all. She would make a huge bonfire in the back garden. She would burn her clothes. She would burn all her old toys (except for her old teddy bear Rasputin, obviously—he was more of a guru and personal trainer than a toy). She would burn her CDs and her CD player. She would burn all her makeup. She would shave all her hair off and burn that. She would wear only a pair of Oriental black pajamas. She would sleep in the box room on a small mat made out of rushes. The only item in the room would be a plain white saucer for her tears. Then they'd be sorry.”

“I have but one candle of life to burn, and i would rather burn it out in a land filled with darkness than in a land flooded with light.”