He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.

You couldn't erase the past. You couldn't even change it. But sometimes life offered you the opportunity to put it right.

Gestating characters feels something like the mental equivalent of gestating a baby. In both cases, to create them you lose yourself. Or at least you reshape yourself to encompass them.

I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.

His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.

When you remembered to forget, you were remembering. It was when you forgot to forget that you forgot.

I want to go where you're going. I'm not scared of dying. I want to stay together and come back together. You said that souls cohere. I want to stay with you.