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How he wearies of the violence. How he understands its necessity.
Most of the kids he knows are rushing toward adulthood as fast as they can, hands stretched in front of them, grasping for the unknowable future. Roger wishes he knew how to dig in his heels and stop where he is. Just for a while; just long enough to get a better idea of what’s ahead.
sometimes it’s best to let his brain work like this, puzzling over the problem in the background while he gets on with the business of living.
her hair is strawberry blonde, a color that belongs in a bottle, not on a body.
When she stops breathing, his own heart will follow hers into the dark. He knows that as surely as he’s ever known anything,
She didn’t do well on her Presidential Fitness Tests, but then, who does? Jocks and people whose native intelligence is in their bodies, not their minds. He can’t be mad at those folks for blowing the bell curve—it’s not like he doesn’t do the same to half his classes. That doesn’t mean he can’t be a little bitter.
Time is a funny thing; it doesn’t forgive the things we don’t see.
She’s a predator in her own way, capable of absolute stillness when she thinks she needs it, capable of equally absolute momentum.
This is what it sounds like when your little girl is living in the world.
When he asks for something, he usually gets it, because the world listens when given commands.
