“Knowing a person isn't like knowing a string of facts. It's more like...a feeling.”

“The thing is, I used to like that: feeling special because I knew something no one else did. It's a kind of power, isn't it, knowing a secret? But lately I don't like it so much, knowing this. It's not really mine to know, is it?”

“Britain isn't a world power any more. Its just like a zombie in that regard; it doesn't know when it's dead - Samson from No Boundaries.”

“I like the strings. I always have. Because that's how it feels. But the strings make pain seem more fatal than it is, I think. We're not as frail as the strings would make us believe. And I like the grass, too. The grass got me to you, helped me to imagine you as an actual person. But we're not different sprouts from the same plant. I can't be you. You can't be me. You can imagine another well – but never quite perfectly, you know?”

“She hates the fact that she won't know. It's feels like the last day of school, the final night at summer camp, like everything is coming to an abrupt and dizzying end.”

“Maybe I don't feel what others feel. I have no way of knowing. But I do feel. It's just that what I feel does not elicit tears. What I feel when others cry is more like a dry, empty aloneness, like I'm the only person left in the world.”