“She would rather remain silent, but her voice is no longer something to fear. Its strong. Powerful. A weapon of emotions.”

“It hurts, Summer cries, head shaking back and forth. Please, make it stop. Sweat beads on her forehead.What hurts? Cameron asks.My eyes.Summers eyes open. Everyone gasps. Theyre no longer blue; the...”

“She draws back, yet refuses to lose skin contact. Golden light flickers across his face. He is the night, the stars. His soul shines so brightly, she could pour it into a jar, and itd be as bright ...”

“Why wont you look at me? she murmurs.He doesnt speak, seemingly at a loss for words.Its my scars. It comes out as barely a whisper.Horror spasms across his face. What? No, he says, a bit breathless...”

“Refusing to listen to him any longer, Julian backs up. Whenever you realize working together is in Summers best interest, come find me, Boy Scout. Until then, Ill just pretend you dont exist. Then ...”

“Why arent you smiling? Cameron asks. She picks up the Astropad and stops the video.Because this is the beginning, not the end.”

“You matter.”

“It's taken me all this time, all this loss, to realize what really matters is now.”

“They filled our world with weapons aimed at foreheads and smiled as they shot 16 candles right through our future. They killed those strong enough to fight back and locked up the freaks who failed ...”

“A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

“I've always said that idleness dulls the spirit. We have to keep the brain busy, or at least the hands if we don't have a brain.”

“If your workplace was somehow transplanted into the jungle and everyone was forced to survive at a very primitive level, it's safe to say that eventually your boss would rape you.”

“Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life somewhere which we know nothing of. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be world after world unseen by us,...”

“Business or profession?''I guess you'd call me a writer.'No profession,' said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.”

“Prediction is the business of prophets, clairvoyants, and futurologists. It is not the business of novelists. A novelists business is lying. The weather bureau will tell you what next Tuesday will ...”