(...) Moim zdaniem płaczemy po to, aby uwolnić naszą zwierzęcą część, nie tracąc człowieczeństwa.

Maybe we're strangers no matter where we go. Or maybe we'll make a home somewhere inside ourselves, to carry with us wherever we go.

Because you like to hurt people. And you think you're special, you think everyone around you is a bunch of sissies who can't make the tough choices like you can.You are not special. I like to hurt people too. I can make the cruelest choice. The difference is sometimes I don't, and you always do, and that makes you evil.

I imagine the wave of water colliding with the rock and spilling over the tile floor, collecting around my shoes. Doing a little at once can fix something, eventually, but I feel like when you believe that something is truly a problem, you throw everything you have at it, because you just can’t help yourself.

He's one of the last friends I have," she says, her voice breaking. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at you the same way again.

So small as to be negligible.It's strange, but there's something in that thought that makes me feel almost...free.

I choose him over and over again, and he chooses me.

I feel a thread tugging me again, but this time I know that it isn’t some sinister force dragging me toward death. This time I know it’s my mother's hand, drawing me into her arms. And I go gladly into her embrace.

He is strong, and lithe, and certain. And he is mine.

Caleb," I say, "I love you."His eyes gleam with tear as he says, "I love you, too, Beatrice.