Which is my rough luck, pretty much always. As soon as you start carrying a sword, all your enemies turn out mist and gossamer.

But I still didn't let myself dwell on any of the good things, you know? It's the good things that'll drive you mad with missing them.

She told me later that her parents had told her to steer clear of me at school. "My mum said that nobody really knew where you came from. And that you might be dangerous."
"Why didn't you listen to her?" I asked.
"Because nobody knew where you came from, Simon! And you might be dangerous!"

I have so much I want to tell you.
But time is short.
And my voice doesn't carry.

Honestly. I'm not sure why goatherds take such crap for being perverts. Cowboys seem to get off scot-free.

Fiona is vindictive. She's impatient. And sometimes she just wants to rage against the machine - even if she's not exactly sure where the machine is or how to properly rage at it.

Just when you think you're having a scene without Simon, he drops in to remind you that everyone else is a supporting character in his catastrophe.

I stay. And I drift. I slip through floors that won't hold me. I blow through walls that don't stop me. The whole world is grey, and full of shadows.
I tell them my story.

I'd cross every line for him. 
I'm in love with him. 
And he likes this better than fighting.

He cocks an eyebrow and stares at me, like figuring out what's wrong with me is something he'll never have enough time for.

It's a three-hour drive back to London. Penelope casts, "Time flies!" - but neither of us are having any fun, so it doesn't work.

I was happy.
I loved him.
And he was always more good than bad.
He's still more good than bad, I think. It just goes to show how much of both a person can hold.

 “What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn't be a bigger mess."
He tries to kiss me, but I pull back- "And you like that?"
"I love it." He says
"Why?"
"Because we match.”

I don't suppose I ever had the choices I thought I did.