“Have you heard," he said "that many of our people believe if you know five colloquial expressions in their tribal language, they must always provide you with nourishment and shelter? But-" He paused as though to make sure she was paying attention. "But if you know fewer than five, they owe you not even a sip of water."She nodded, understanding his point, but he pressed it."Learn those five phrases, Miss Sweeney," he said.”

“I'll be back," she said. "Very soon."He needed to reply. He needed to say Good, come back; better, Don't go; or better still, I'll join you. He wanted to say, Your neck is beautiful. He wanted to say, I never ever thought my life would hold this, and if your leaving is what I must give for what I was given, then it was worth it.But the children were all around and Mr Abasi was calling out and motioning for her to come, and anyway, he knew now, if he hadn't known before, that there were limitations to words - words in the air or on a page.”

“I realized right away that books could take us out of ourselves, and make us larger. Even provide us with human connections we wouldn’t otherwise have.”

“But then, with whatever time she had left, until life was taken from her, Neema would touch more pages; she would encounter there more of those far-flung sisters; she would listen to them whisper the unuttered words of her heart.”

“I think I was always interested in the larger world, even as a kid, and my experiences as a journalist only heightened that interest. Covering conflict, I learned that though leaders often try to create a sense of "us" and "them," the differences are not that delineated. I often felt like it was a whole bunch of "us," with some of "them" scattered around. That made me feel that the borders we draw around ourselves are often artificial.”

“This—” He shook his head. “You and me, you know it’s not a good idea.”“If you think so, maybe you should stay away.”“You don’t want me to,” he said, moving his hand to mine. Every time he touched me, my stomach got all jittery.“What do you want?” I asked.“You,” he said, his expression unreadable and his voice heavy and full of . . . full of what? Sadness? Regret? “To understandyou. To know that you’re safe. To not have to avoid the only person I can be myself around.”

“Who would you die for? Who would you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you?”