“I know," she said, guessing my thoughts. "I know exactly how you feel."
"Does it get easier?" I asked. Unlike Sydney, Olena had an answer.
"Yes. But you'll never be the same.”

“Exactly!" said Deep Thought. "So once you do know what the question actually is, you'll know what the answer means.”

“As far as I know, he never asked where she had been or why she had left and she never told. I guess some stories do not need telling.”

“Why won't anyone ever answer my questions?"
"Because you never stop asking them and especially because you keep asking them even when it's clear that nobody knows the answers."
"Well, how do I know that they don't know the answer unless I ask?”

“She says no
When she means yes
And what she wants
You know that I can't guess.
When we want more
You know we ask for less
Such is the language of love…”

“I know how you feel," I said. "You run into something you totally don't get, and it's scary as hell. But once you learn something about it, it gets easier to handle. Knowledge counters fear. It always has.”

“Swearing relieves the feelings—that is what swearing does. I explained this to my aunt on one occasion, but it didn't answer with her. She said I had no business to have such feelings.”

““Are you happy, Norman?” asked Brant.
“Well, sure, I guess.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said bitterly. “Neither am I.””

“I guess it's a choice we make," she said.

"What's a choice?" I asked.

And she said, "How much of the world we let in.”

“Mrs Swithin took her knitting from the table. 'Did you feel,' she asked, 'what he said: we act different parts but are the same?'
'Yes,' Isa answered. 'No,' she added. It was Yes, No. Yes, yes, yes, the tide rushed out embracing. No, no, no, it contracted.”