As the lion who smothers her wailing cub, we’re strongest when we kill our own blood. It is the purest, most honest way to bring order to chaos.
To live with the dead means to live in silence. If the mother can’t quiet the child, then the dead will. Natural selection.
There are only two kinds of people left in this world, the ones brave enough to walk with the dead and everybody else.
The dead don’t have names. And we shouldn’t, either. Without names or a past, those of us strong enough to still be alive out here, can know each other on a primal level.
Know why I trust animals? Because they don’t lie. You had to lie. So did they. It’s what they do. They’re just words. Air. Nothing more. Remember that.[to Lydia]