“Is there cowardice with the acknowledgement of fear?”

“But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?”

“There was also an acknowledgment that there was great beauty in what she was currently witnessing, and she chose not to disturb it.”

“Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.”

“Already, I know that all of this will stay with me forever. It'll haunt me, but I also fear it will make me feel grateful. I say fear because at times I really don't want this to be a fond memory until it's over. I also fear that nothing really ends at the en. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.”

“They were frightened, no question, but they were not afraid of me. It was a fear of messing up and having to face themselves again, and facing the world, and the likes of you.”

“Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.”