“I feel like a real dead one: having neither blood to bleed nor any flesh or bone to feel the scars; yet I want to hold on to my spirit.”

“Thank you," he said in that deep tone that was always laced with sadness."For what?" I asked.This time he reached up and pushed a strand of hair from my face. "For seeing me. Most people I meet look right through me. But when you look at me, I feel real, I feel like flesh, bone and blood.”

“I don't want to die without any scars, I don't want to continue my life without feeling everything that I was given, even if the scars are left on my heart. I just don't want to die without scars”

“I feel closer ties and more intimate bonds with certain characters in books, with certain images I’ve seen in engravings, than with many supposedly real people, with that metaphysical absurdity known as “flesh and blood.” In fact “flesh and blood” describes them very well: they resemble cuts of meat laid out on the butcher’s marble slab, dead creatures bleeding as though still alive, the sirloin steaks and cutlets of Fate.”

“I have this deep need to bond with real blood relatives, but I feel like I'm not really a part of either of my families.”

“Laura looked up at him with dead blue eyes. I want to be alive again," she said. "Not in this half-life. I want to be really alive. I want to feel my heart pumping in my chest again. I want to feel blood moving through me — hot, and salty, and real. It's weird, you don't think you can feel it, the blood, but believe me, when it stops flowing, you'll know." She rubbed her eyes, smudging her face with red from the mess on her hands. Look, it's hard. You know why dead people only go out at night, puppy? Because it's easier to pass for real, in the dark. And I don't want to have to pass. I want to be alive.”