“Byron: The luxuries of this place have made me soft.The metal point's gone from my pen, there's nothing left but the feather.Gutman:That may be true.But what can you do about it?Byron:Make a departure.Gutman:From yourself?Byron:From my present self to myself as I used to be!Gutman:That's the furthest departure a man could make!”

“You have a spark of anarchy in your spirit and that's not to be tolerated. Nothing wild or honest is tolerated her! It has to be extinguished...”

“-The little comfort of love?-Is that comfort so little?-Caged birds accept each other but flight is what they long for.”

“You need more time? Fine. I can do that. I could do anything for you, Luce. But, please, for god's sake, just give me some hope." A tear skied down my cheek, bleeding into one of my bandages. "Give me the smallest silver of hope there's still going to be a place for you and me on the other side of this.”

“And I’m sorry I ruined everything we had before I could admit it to you. Before I could admit it to myself. You didn’t make me a better person, because no one can do that. You made me want to be a better person.”

“There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go.”

“I know I’m one royal screw up, and god knows there’s nothing I could ever do to deserve you,” he began, taking my hand in his after sliding the ring free from the chain. “But I want you, Lucy Larson. Bad. I want you forever. The kind of bad I have for you isn’t the kind that goes away.” His forehead lined, his eyes washing silver. “Ease my suffering. Make me the happiest, most tortured man in the world. Marry me?”