Pay attention to your dreams; when you go on a trip, in your dreams you will still be home. Then after you've come home you'll dream of where you were. It's a kind of jet lag of the consciousness.

Even feigning surprise, pretending it was unexpected and saying a ritual thanks, is surely wiser than just expecting everything so carelessly.

Day leans in toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. "You're brilliant," he says. "But you're a fool to stay wish someone like me."I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. "Then we're both fools.

She never says gracias because life is made of survival not grace, she says, and servants are paid to bring what they're asked.

I do understand that they fall when I'm least able to pay attention because poems fall not from a tree, really, but from the richly pollinated boughs of an ordinary life, buzzing, as lives do, with clamor and glory. They are easy to miss but everywhere: poetry just is, whether we revere it or try to put it in prison. It is elementary grace, communicated from one soul to another.

Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. "And as for who you are, you__e the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously smart caffeinated fighter you__e been since the day I met you._ Finally, he put __eautiful_ at the top of his list of adjectives. Not that I should have cared.__weet talker,_ I scoffed. __ou didn__ know anything about me the first time we met.___ knew you were beautiful,_ he said. __ just hoped for the rest.