“This is days and days and months and years and all the minutes in between, just you me.”

“Some days, I listen to that clock ticking in the hallway. Then I think of all the ticks, all the minutes, all the hours and days and weeks and months and years waiting for me. All of it without you. And I can’t breathe then, like someone’s stepping on my heart. I get so weak. So weak I just want to collapse somewhere.”

“Then I think of all the tricks, all the minutes all the hours and days and weeks and months and years waiting for me. All of it without them. And I can't breathe then, like someone's stepping on my heart, Laila. So weak I just want to collapse somewhere.”

“Life is not made up of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years, but of moments. You must experience each one before you can appreciate it.”

“Days, weeks, months, years," said the boy. "Minutes and hours and seconds. I don't know about any of those things.”

“Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.”