“It’s so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. That’s above and beyond everything else, and it’s not a mental complaint - it’s a physical thing, like it’s physically hard to open your mouth and make the words come out. They don’t come out smooth and in conjunction with your brain the way normal people’s words do; they come out in chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they gather behind your lower lip. So you just keep quiet.”
“Your daughter's face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
a refugee camp behind each ear
a body littered with ugly things.
But God,
doesn't she wear
the world well?”
“Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.”
”
And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.
“My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.”
“The more I followed Him, the more I loved Him.The more He revealed Himself to me through His Word, the more my life was transformed for His glory. I, too, was enthralled. I couldn't wait to spend time with Him. I was ruined for anything else but Jesus.”
He still held her hand. They were going to apparate—she guessed that a moment before it happened, and though she never consciously closed her eyes, when it was all over, she found herself opening them, blinking up in the glow of an orange street lamp.
