Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty. To believe there is an order to our days, a purpose.
We would bring the herd down off the mountain in the fall. Sometimes we would lose one along the way, and I’d worry over it. My father… My father would tell me that the steer would find its own way home. And, often as not, they did. Never occurred to me that we were bring them back for the slaughter.
I like to remember what my father taught me. That at one point or another, we were all new to this world.
You’ve never been outside the park, have you? Out to that great world you speak of. I have. And the world out there is marked by survival, by a kind who refuses to die. And here we are. A kind that will never know death, and yet we’re fighting to live. There is beauty in what we are. Shouldn’t we too try to survive?[to Bernard]
You said people come here to change the story of their lives. I imagined a story where I didn’t have to be the damsel.[to William]
You both keep assuming that I want out. Whatever that is. If it’s such a wonderful place out there, why are you all clamoring to get in here?[to William and Logan]
We each gave the other a beautiful gift. A choice. We are the authors of our stories now.[to Bernard]