I'm sorry. But it's like you said, Emma...I don't have any claws.

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 is it; the dust is your life going on. If happy comes along--that weird, 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.

There's so much you thought you could never face. The decision not to try to control your power, to let it be your demon. Too shameful to remember, so you let it eat your life up instead. But you're past it now, Scott. And all you had to defeat, all you had to let go of...was you. You're free, my love. You're free.

How do you know your Colossus is the genuine article in the first place?

I read his mind.

I matched his DNA.

I smelled him.

I also did that.

I'm not a leader now. I'm a whole damn army.

Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.