“This is what you remember about him: not much, but then you have been assiduous in your forgetting. His red sweater, v-neck, cashmere; the clink of ice-cubes in a glass. He is shadow and voice, but you cannot recall his face. He is behind a closed door, in a forbidden room. He is asleep in his armchair, he is asleep in the driveway, asleep in your sandpit, face down, snoring but not harmless, even then. He is shouting, he is whispering, he is close but also remote as if at the end of a long hallway and you cannot hear him. His words never make any sense, he speaks some other language. His hands sometimes spin away from him like windmills, like pinwheels and Catherine wheels, snapping like firecrackers. There must be pain, but you cannot feel it.Your skin bruises like apples.”

“Asmoday is the flower that bloomed despite the spoiled soil he emerged from. You tried to make him like you, but he is too much like his mother. Even your influence cannot change his heart.”

“You and me,” he echoed, tilting my face up to his. I stared back into his eyes. They were clear of sleep and nightmares now. “Always.” I told him, my lips curving into a smile. That had been his line once, now it was mine. “Always,” Balik murmured against my jawbone the words grazing my skin as I arched my neck backwards. “You and me, always.” His whisper mingled with the kisses he brushed along my throat. I closed my eyes and drifted away with him.”

“Sometimes I have the feeling that we're in one room with two opposite doors and each of us holds the handle of one door, one of us flicks an eyelash and the other is already behind his door, and now the first one has but to utter a word ad immediately the second one has closed his door behind him and can no longer be seen. He's sure to open the door again for it's a room which perhaps one cannot leave. If only the first one were not precisely like the second, if he were calm, if he would only pretend not to look at the other, if he slowly set the room in order as though it were a room like any other; but instead he does exactly the same as the other at his door, sometimes even both are behind the doors and the the beautiful room is empty.”

“No," he said, leaning back to take my face in his hands and dropping another soft kiss on my lips. "All I've wanted since you limped out of my life the first day I met you was to have you back in it. Does that scare you?"I stood on tiptoe to return his kiss. "Not even a little bit. Thank you, Tanner Graham."He smiled. "For what?""For being patient. I'll make it worth it.""You've always been worth it," he said punctuating his opinion with another kiss...Tanner smiled down at me, tightening his hold. "Thank you.""For what?""for being you. I love you, Pepper.”

“Sometimes I have the feeling that we're in one room with two opposite doors and each of us holds the handle of one door, one of us flicks an eyelash and the other is already behind his door, and now the first one has but to utter a word ad immediately the second one has closed his door behind him and can no longer be seen. He's sure to open the door again for it's a room which perhaps one cannot leave. If only the first one were not precisely like the second, if he were calm, if he would only pretend not to look at the other, if he slowly set the room in order as though it were a room like any other; but instead he does exactly the same as the other at his door, sometimes even both are behind the doors and the the beautiful room is empty." Franz Kafka (in a letter to Milena Jesenska)”

“Varian cringed as Merewyn faced him. If he looked half as bad as he suspected, he wouldn’thave blamed her had she run for the door. “You don’t have to do this.” She stepped into his arms. “Yes, Varian, I do.” She brushed the matted hair back from his face. “I don’t care what you look like. It’s you I love, not your looks. Your humor, your kindness, even that little snuffle snore you make when you sleep.” “I don’t snore.” She laughed. “Yes, you do.” And with that she pulled his lips to hers.”