“Luce," Jude said, stopping me, "I get what a piece of shit I am, and it's not awful or unfair or incorrect for people to call me out on what I am. But I'd like to think a person can change, and I swear to you I'm going to try to leave me piece of shitedness behind.”

“I feel like any second you're going to figure out what a piece of shit I am and leave me.”

“Yes! I'm me! I am careful and logical and I look up things I don't understand! When I hear people use the wrong words, I get edgy! I am good with cheese. I read books fast! I think! And I always have a piece of string! That's the kind of person I am!”

“Because You have called me here not to wear a label by which I can recognize myself and place myself in some kind of a category. You do not want me to be thinking about what I am, but about what You are. Or rather, You do not even want me to be thinking about anything much: for You would raise me above the level of thought. And if I am always trying to figure out what I am and where I am and why I am, how will that work be done?”

“Now, feel free to call me what I am-call me a corpse, call me dead, call me a killer if you want. I've killed people in battle, I'll admit. But don't call me what I'm not. I am not a freak, and I am not a cannibal, and-"I would have adeed, I'm not a monster, if it hadn't at that moment hit me that I was going all self-righteous on a girl whose world I had just turned upside down.Smooth, Bram. When will you learn to shut up?”

“I breathe deeply, and certainty enters into me like light, like a piece of science, and curious music seems to hum inside my fingers.Is there a single person on whom I can press belief?No sir.All I can do is say, Here’s how it went. Here’s what I saw.I’ve been there and am going back.Make of it what you will.”