"Soft southern breezes came and played in my hair and dried the wisps about my face. I felt them tickling like small kisses, and again I wanted to cry, for no reason at all, except the night was so sweet, so lovely, and I was at the age of high romantic yearning. And the breeze whispered loving words in my ears... words I was so afraid no one was ever going to say. Still, the night was so lovely under the trees, near the shimmering moonlit water, and I sighed. I felt that I'd been here before, on this grass near the lake. Oh, the strange thoughts I had as the night-fliers hummed and whirred, and the mosquitos buzzed and somewhere far off an owl hooted, taking me quickly back to the night when we first came to live as fugitives, hidden from a world that didn't want us."
- Flowers in the Attic