“You can’t put a price on the rituals of love, because you never know what will happen next. I suppose fear is part of the excitement and we can’t have one without the other.”

“We all got to be winners sometimes. But what he didn’t understand was that we all had to be losers, too. Because you can’t have one without the other.”

“You can’t put a price tag on love. But if you could, I’d wait for it to go on sale.”

“I know this because the worst has happened. The thing I can’t live with… has happened. And for all our back and forth— and all the things we’ve said and done to each other… there’s one thing that I’ll never be able to tell anyone now… The one thing! The one thing I should have told you. But now I can’t… It wasn't worth it.”

“And that’s the worst of it, the part no one ever tells you about.” “What part?” he said, his voice still clenched with grief. “How it never stops. How the pain of missing people never stops. When you burn your finger in a fire, it hurts, but it only hurts one way because you know what caused the pain and why the pain is there, and you know that it will settle, in a bit. But heart pain has facets, Silas. A thousand different sides, sharp and hard; most of them you don’t even know exist, even when you’re looking straight at them. When someone leaves, or dies, or doesn’t love you in return, well, you may think you know why your heart hurts. But wrapped in there are a hundred kinds of fear all tangled in a knot you can’t untie. Nobody wants to be alone. We all fear being left alone, being left behind. I know such things exist. But you must learn to see death as something more than loss, more than absence, more than silence. You must learn to make mourning into memory. For once a person takes leave of his life, that life becomes so much more a part of ours. In death, they come to be in our keeping. The dead find their rest within us. Thus, in remembrance, we are never alone. But people forget the power of memory. So we fear death in the deepest place of our very being, because we don’t know that memories make us immortal. We focus instead on being gone and the awful mystery behind absence. Love and death—and those two are very closely bound together—scare us because we can’t control them. We fear what we can’t control. That fear is really part of what makes us human, but mostly, we’re just afraid of the ends of stories we can’t foresee.”

“You have fought for and claimed your names, and though you may be struck, you will never fall. And that…” His eyes moisten, fear tingeing his voice, no, it’s apprehension. He takes a breath, steels himself. “And that is why I love you.”Seconds pass as his words settle in. I know what he wants to hear, what he aches to hear, what his eyes plead me for. But I can’t tell him that because he wants to hear it back. I can’t tell him that because it might be what he’s pinning his hopes on, a bulwark he’ll set against madness. I can’t tell him that because Heath could never get a guy like him. I can’t tell him that because I don’t want him to be alone, or because I don’t want to be alone. I can’t tell him that because of a million stupid reasons that he would eventually see through, and resent me for. I can’t lie to him.“I love you, Cale.”I tell him because I mean it.”