Before this moment, I have never whished to be something other than what I am. Never felt so keenly the lack of hands with which to touch, the lack of arms whith which to hold.Why did they give me this sense of self? Why allow me the intellect by which to measure this complete inadequacy? I would rather be numb than stand here in the light of a sun that can never chase the chill away
Amie Kaufman, Illuminae