“Phoebe, don't play coy. If you were willing to give a peeping Tom a show, and you thought you were doing it for my benefit, then let's cut the pretend out of this and shoot straight for cold hard honesty”

“You love the Pope, don't you, Paddy?" Tom is staring at me."Why, I do not know," I say, surprised into honesty. "I hardly know about him. Only he did not send help to us when we were hungry at home. Perhaps he did not know.”

“Miranda: You say you were my guardian angel. Does that mean you watched me all the time? Like when I got my period or doctored a zit or took a shower or-Zachary: I'm an angel, not a Peeping Tom.”

“Why do you not do as I do? Letting go of your thoughts as though they were the cold ashes of a long dead fire?”

“And here I thought they were called Peeping Toms." I didn't need to see him to know he wore a smile. "Stop laughing," I said, my cheeks hot with humiliation. "Get me down.""Jump.""What?""I'll catch you.""Are you crazy? Go inside and open the window. Or get a ladder.""I don't need a ladder. Jump. I'm not going to drop you.”

“There was nothing you couldn't do if you wanted it bad enough, and were willing to work hard enough to get it.”