“Exposed to the world for what she was; numbed with worry and fear; trying to answer the question... The same question the police had thrown at her over and over seven years ago.....Where are the Children?”

“It's the same questions we ask of our existence, and the answer is always the same. The mystery lies not in the question nor the answer, but in the asking and answering themselves, over and over again, and the end is engendered in the beginning. ”

“Over the years, she'd learned not to question him too closely—mostly because he wouldn't answer her.”

“Twenty-seven.”His brow puckered, and he blinked over at her. “Twenty-seven hundred years, right?”If he were speaking to Taliyah, yes. “No. Just twenty-seven plain, ordinary years.”“You don’t mean human years, do you?”“No. I mean dog years,” she said dryly, then pressed her lips together. Where was the filter that was usually poised over her mouth? Strider didn’t seem to mind, though. Rather, he seemed stupefied. Would Sabin have had the same reaction were he awake? “What’s so hard to believe about my age?” As the question echoed between them, a thought occurred to her and she blanched. “Do I look ancient?”“No, no. Of course not. But you’re immortal. Powerful.”

“When Chveya was seven years old she had understood perfectly how the world worked. Now she was eight, and there were some questions.”

“...he couldn't help but wonder what Hannah might have looked like if...he'd answered that question April had asked him years ago.”