I told Ing once that she dances like a German and she didn't like it, but it's true: she dances seriously, like lives are hanging in the balance, like precision dancing can save the starving children of India.

I wish for a moment that time would lift me out of this day, and into some more benign one. But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness; dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say "I'm sorry" until it is as meaningless air.

Mama said, "Dreams are different to real life but important too."

What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Love you..." Henry-" Always..." Oh God oh God-" World enough..." No!" And time..." Henry!

He was not in the house. He did not come back that night. Days went by, and at last she understood that he would not return at all.

It's funny how we like labels. If I ever have a bookstore, I'm not going to put any labels on the sections.