Tell the story, gather the events, repeat them. Pattern is a matter of upkeep. Otherwise the weave relaxes back to threads picked up by birds to make their nests. Repeat, or the story will fall and all the king's horses and all the king's men. . . . Repeat, and cradle the pieces carefully, or events will scatter like marbles on a wooden floor.

Depression is anger slowed down; panic is grief speeded up.

Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.

They are so young, they forget that the world is not as in love with them as they are.

There are some stories you can't hear enough. They are the same every time you hear them. But you are not. That's one reliable way of understanding time.

Materia had been just six when they docked in Sydney Harbour and her father said, 'Look. This is the New World. Anything is possible here.' She's been too young to realize that he was talking to her brother.

Writing is a hellish task, best snuck up on, whacked on the head, robbed and left for dead.