Her sadness makes her impossibly beautiful, like snow blanketing a barren landscape.

She's pretty in a way that distracts me just like she did in the Skiz ring. No, pretty's not the right word. Beautiful.

June has never looked more beautiful than she does now, unadorned and honest, vulnerable yet invincible.

I lean my head against my knee and close my eyes. Even the illusion of June is enough to send a stabbing pain through my chest. Hell. I miss her so much.

No. I will never let you hurt Day like that. Not the way I've already hurt him.

What’s the point of keeping in touch with the girl you’re crazy about, when you’re dying?

I've never thought of describing her beauty as delicate, because delicate just isn't a word that fits June... but here, now that she's sick, I realize just how fragile she can be.

He loved you.

Clouds suit my mood just fine.