Cartridge closed his eyes. So, the end. It would happen instantaneously, a painless departure, quicker than thought. He felt the presence of his body one last time: the taste of air in his lungs, the blood surging in his veins, the drumlike beating of his heart. The bomb was dropping toward them." I've got you," he said, hugging Tim fiercely; and again, over and over, so that the boy would be hearing these words. "I've got you, I've got you, I've got you, I've got you.

— Justin Cronin

City of memories, city of mirrors.

— Justin Cronin

Consider the species known as man. We lie, we cheat, we want what others have and take it; we make war upon each other and the earth; we harvest lives in multitude. We have mortgaged the planet and spent the cash on trifles.

— Justin Cronin

Don't we all deserve forgiveness? I hope we do; I believe we do. Forgiveness says as much about the character of the person bestowing it as the person receiving it. Learning to forgive may be the most difficult of human acts, and the closest thing to divinity, whatever you decide that is.

— Justin Cronin

Drinking myself blind seemed like the next logical step.

— Justin Cronin

For the first time he considers the full emotional dimensions of the day. His life is changing, but his parent’s lives are changing too. Like a habitat, abruptly deprived of a major species, the household will be wrenched into realignment by his departure. Like all young people, he has no idea who his parents really are. For 18 years he has experienced their existence only in so far as it is related to his own needs. Suddenly his mind is full of questions. What do they talk about when he's not around? What secrets do they hold from each other? What aspirations have been left to languish? What private grievances held in check by the shared project of child-rearing will now in his absence, lurch into the light?

— Justin Cronin

For the first time in my life, I felt the pain of missing people I had not yet left.

— Justin Cronin

For the lips of an immoral woman drip honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil; but in the end she is as bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death, her steps lay hold of hell

— Justin Cronin

He has to come to it on his own.

— Justin Cronin

His father had always said, Son, the most important thing in life is to make a contribution. Who would have thought Cartridge’s contribution would be video-blogging from the front lines of the apocalypse?

— Justin Cronin