“And if we know how to light a fire, why do we carry tinder around with us?"Because you're humans," the little one explained serenly. "You're stupid.”

“How do I know you're one of the good guys?You dont. You'll have to take a shot.Are you carrying the fire?Am I what?Carrying the fire.You're kind of weirded out, arent you?No.Just a little.Yeah.That's okay.So are you?What, carrying the fire?Yes.Yeah, We are.”

“We write for the same reason that we walk, talk, climb mountains or swim the oceans — because we can. We have some impulse within us that makes us want to explain ourselves to other human beings. That’s why we paint, that’s why we dare to love someone- because we have the impulse to explain who we are. Not just how tall we are, or thin… but who we are internally… perhaps even spiritually. There’s something, which impels us to show our inner-souls. The more courageous we are, the more we succeed in explaining what we know.”

“You're different, Ry. Don't know how. don't know why. We only know that you're ours.”

“("Let's stand under a tree," she said. "Why?""Because it's nicer.""Maybe you should sit on a chair, and I'll stand above you, like they always do with husbands and wives.""That's stupid.""Why's it stupid?""Because we're not married.""Should we hold hands?""We can't.""But why?""Because, people will know.""Know what?""About us.""So what if they know?""It's better when it's a secret.""Why?""So no one can take it from us.")”

“Maybe thinking you're supposed to 'have a life' is a stupid way of buying into an untenable 1950s narrative of what life *supposed* to be. How do we know that all of these people with 'no lives' aren't really on the new frontier of human sentience and preceptions?”