“You and I,” she said slowly, saying each word with care, “are a pair of scissors.”“A pair of scissors…” I replied, unsure of what she meant.“Alone, we’re knives. Sharp and nasty, made to hurt others. But together, we are scissors. Better, safer, more useful. But more than that, we are our missing halves. And whatever comes between us, we destroy.”“I like that,” I told her.“You don’t think it’s creepy?” she asked tentatively.“No, it’s not creepy. Because I love you.”

“Shane, in case we don’t … don’t come out of this, I wanted to say…”He glanced over at her, and she felt her whole body warm from it. She remembered that look. It made her feel naked inside and out, but not in a creepy kind of way. In a way that felt…. Free. “If what you say is true, and I guess it has to be, I think I know why we’re … together,” he said. “I think I’d fall for you no matter what, Claire. You’re kind of awesome.”

“Whatever it is, I sure didn’t go lookin fer it.You don’t hafta, she says. If it’s meant to be, it’ll find you. We like to think we’re in charge of our own lives, but we ain’t. Not really.”

“We were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors," she told him once. "I was paper and she was rock so I lived and she died.”

“A witty vicar once said that a good marriage is like a pair of scissors with the couple inseparable joined, often moving in opposite directions, yet always destroying anyone who comes between them. The trick is for the blades to learn to work smoothly together, so as not to cut each other.”

“She felt like a fictional character who'd escaped the book in which her creator had carefully and kindly trapped her, taken a pair of scissors to her outline and leaped, free...”