Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.

As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.

The joy from eating does not come from the exclusivity of the food, but instead from the sensitivity that we eat it with.

I trust you.""Good." There was a flash of a quick smile and then he was out of the Jeep. I tracked him with my eyes, feeling a little dizzy. It was the truth. I did trust him and that was a big deal for me. I really hadn't trusted any guy since Jeremy, anyone except my brother. But I had trusted Jase from the moment I had met him.

Your beliefs have the power to unlock your inner genius or keep you from fully achieving your greatest potential.

This is the real Madame. I can see why she hides herself in accents and gems and exotic perfumes. I can see why she's grown to hate anything to do with love. She isn't evil or corrupt the way that Vaughn is. She's broken. Only broken.