“Dad?” “What?” A small bird rises from a tree in front of us. “What should I be when I grow up?” The bird disappears over a far ridge. I don’t know what to say. “Honest,” I finally say.” — Robert M. Pirsig Copy Share Image
“You're not coming with us," I say, realizing. "If things were different, I would," Indie says, and when she looks at me, it's hard to hold her honest, longing gaze. "But they aren't. And I still have flying to do."… — ally condie Copy Share Image
