Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.

What we need,' Henry says, 'is a fresh start. A blank slate. Let's call her Tabula Rasa.

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.

I'm sorry. I didn't know you were coming or I'd have cleaned up a little more. My life, I mean, not just the apartment.

Each spine was an encapsulated memory, each book represented hours, days of pleasure, of immersion into words.

Sometimes a thing is—too much—and it has to be isolated and put away." Martin shrugged. "So what's in the boxes is—emotion. In the form of objects."-Her Fearful Symmetry

CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.