“Whether you belive you can or whether you believe you can't, you're absolutely correct!”

“You need to have mercy on me, baby," his tone turned slightly threatening, "before I snap.""I told you to stay the fuck away from him. I told you not to let him touch you. I told you not to let him kiss you. Did he fuckin' kiss you again? You let him fucking touch you again?""Am i gonna have to beat the shit out o' him? Is that what it's gonna take?""He can't fuck you, Elaina." His hands released her wrists and dropped down until his arms encircled her waist completely. He hugged her to him, running his hands up and down her back. "I get that you're too young for me. I can't have you yet." His hands clenched tight in pure possession. "But baby, you need to take care. You belong to me--" She jerked in his arms and caught him off guard. "I don't belong to you---" His head whipped up to glare at her face and his hand grabbed her chin and lifted it. "You're gonna fckin' belong to me. Just as soon as you get grown, I've told you before. But you need to take care, protect what's mine, or all bets are off and I'll move in now. Your choice. I'll give you time and space but you gotta promise. Nobody fucks you. Now. Promise Now.”

“There are certain children who are told they are too sensitive, and there are certain adults who believe sensitivity is a problem that can be fixed in the way that crooked teeth can be fixed and made straight. And when these two come together you get a fairytale, a kind of story with hopelessness in it.I believe there is something in these old stories that does what singing does to words. They have transformational capabilities, in the way melody can transform mood.They can't transform your actual situation, but they can transform your experience of it. We don't create a fantasy world to escape reality, we create it to be able to stay. I believe we have always done this, used images to stand and understand what otherwise would be intolerable.”

“See, what you do here is you work yourself away from the words, slowly shedding them until there's no more need of them, because you're them and they're you- wordless words. And then, what you want, all you want, are the slow silent white fireworks of Who-What Made It All, calling it whatever you want to until you don't call it anything at all because you don't need to, you just don't need to anymore...”

“You keep seeing your picture on posters that you are missing but you're not. That'd be weird, right? Or say you look down at the sidewalk and earthworms are spelling your name. Or you open a peanut bag and the 'hello' is written in your writing on the inside of the shell. Would that weird ya?”

“You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you Lexi. Any marks our daughter left on your body only makes you that much sexier to me. I never thought I'd have another chance with you.”

“If you cannot extol the virtue of your own creation, how can you expect others to?”