“My memories of them had rubbed thin with overuse, worn to frail color transparencies flickering on the walls of my mind”

“Perhaps, over the years, like most things, the walls had aged. Thinned. Worn thin by the day to day endlessness of its own existence.”

“It had been so long since she had seen him and she had lived on memories until they were worn thin.”

“Don't you remember anything?! There is no 'devil.' There is no 'hell.' There is only Unrest. There is no down, only sideways; the transparent beside the opaque, and a thin wall to separate them.”

“The more I anoint the more my mind adheres physically to the mysterious fabric of love.I am decutie. Worn thin. You know that word?”

“There is also the fact that red and gold are my colors,” he went on. “They are the colors on my family’s banners and devices, worn by all Chiavari males when they ride into battle, and worn by their ladies at tournaments or other important occasions. You can imagine my surprise when a lady wearing Chiavari colors fell into my arms inside a drafty castle in England.”“I doubt the color of my gown was the first thing you noticed,” she teased.“No, that was not the first thing I noticed.” His voice had gone soft with the memory. The first thing he had noticed was how right she had felt in his arms, the realization that his arms had been empty until that moment when he found what belonged there, who belonged there.”