“how many times have my wishes and my dreams and my prayers for you hidden beneath my breath? how many times have i looked at you, heart in my throat, hands in my pockets, smile on my face, just wanting to say...”

“I still dream that it was you. No matter how many times I've looked, in my dreams it's always been you who were meant to be my queen.”

“That's my town,' Joaquin said. 'What a fine town, but how the buena gente, the good people of that town, have suffered in this war.' Then, his face grave, 'There they shot my father. My mother. My brother-in-law and now my sister.' 'What barbarians,' Robert Jordan said. How many times had he heard this? How many times had he watched people say it with difficulty? How many times had he seen their eyes fill and their throats harden with the difficulty of saying my father, or my brother, or my mother, or my sister? He could not remember how many times he heard them mention their dead in this way. Nearly always they spoke as this boy did now; suddenly and apropos of the mention of the town and always you said, 'What barbarians.”

“Dreams! My mind lift me from my dreams!No matter how many times i cant escape my mind!Dreams! My mind lift me from my dreams!”

“How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve been barricaded inside a box in my life. I know it’s for my protection. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. (Kiara)”