"My partner here and I have helped save the world at least twice! So a gang of street thugs is really no great big deal. Thanks for worrying, though. That's sweet."
"If we're to learn anything from Larry's death, it should be this... You want to know who I am? I'm Katherine Pryde. That's the only thing that matters. The rest are just labels."
"Part of me feels as old as time itself. That's what reached out to Remy, that's what he responded to. But he was man enough to pull me back from that mistake. To show me a line I shouldn't cross. I'm so afraid if I ever step over that, I lose everything."
"Part of me feels as old as time itself. That's what reached out to Remy, that's what he responded to. But he was man enough to pull me back from that mistake. To show me a line I shouldn't cross. I'm so afraid if I ever step over that, I lose everything."
"Who was he then, that we gather to mourn him? Who am I? A four-eyed, flat-chested, brat, chick, brain, Hebe, stuck-up Xavier's snob freak! Don't like the words? I could use nicer. I've heard worse. Who here hasn't? So often, so casually, that maybe we've forgotten the power they have to hurt. Nigger, Spic, Wop, Slope, Faggot, Mutie -- The list is so long and so cruel. They're labels, put-downs. And they hurt. But usually we laugh it off or hit back -- with words of our own, or fists -- or we suffer in silence. No big deal, this is the rough edge of reality, right? Why make a fuss? Trouble was, when someone labeled Larry Bodine a "mutie", they hit home -- because he was. His power created beauty. That's it. He did with light and color what Mozart did with music. And he wanted nothing more than to be accepted by his peers, and possibly even liked -- and isn't that what any of us really want? To have friends, people to care for us? Not to be alone? If we're lucky we have someone to turn to."
"If we're to learn anything from Larry's death, it should be this... You want to know who I am? I'm Katherine Pryde. That's the only thing that matters. The rest are just labels."
"Everything is so fragile. There's so much conflict, so much pain...you keep waiting for the dust to settle and then you realize this it; the dust is your life going on. If happy comes along--the unbearable delight that's actual happy--I think you have to grab it while you can. You take what you can get, 'cause it's here, and then...gone."