““Don’t be sentimental,” he chided. “Memories aren’t enough.”
It was fruitless to argue the niceties of that: he was telling her that he was in pain; he didn’t want platitudes or metaphysics.”

“He was only six, but he already knew that he hated it when he had to do what other people wanted, even when he knew that they were wrong. He didn’t want to be a soldier. He didn’t want to kill. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to obey stupid people.”

“He wanted what he didn’t know and he didn’t know how to get what he wanted.’ (Acheron)”

“He didn’t want to be what he wasn’t, he didn’t know how to be what he was.”

““Aren’t you even curious?” he asked. “A million worlds out there with more wonders than I could tell you in a million years, and you don’t even want to ask a question?””

“I’m not strong enough for this,” he whispered in her ear—like he didn’t want anyone to hear that coming out of his mouth. Ever. Running her hands up his powerful back, she held him just as hard. “But I am.”

“People fell in love, and lost, and moved on. He didn’t know why he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t even want to. All he knew was that whatever he had to owe to Hell or Heaven for this chance, he was going to make it count.”

“He didn’t really like travel, of course. He liked the idea of travel, and the memory of travel, but not travel itself.”

“And you can tell Darroc that Ms. Lane is mine. If he wants her, he can bloody well come and get her”

“He loved her.
He wanted her.
He needed her.
And he needed her now.”