The stars looked like nail heads in the sky--pull a few of them out and the darkness would fall.

That's what sons do: write to their mothers about recall, tell themselves about the past until they come to realize that they are the past.

Goodness was more difficult than evil. Evil men knew that more than good men. That's why they became evil. That's why it stuck with them. Evil was for those who could never reach the truth. It was a mask for stupidity and lack of love. Even if people laughed at the notion of goodness, if they found it sentimental, or nostalgic, it didn't matter -- it was none of those things, he said, and it had to be fought for.

There are no days more full than those we go back to.

Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.

The repeated lies become history, but they don't necessarily become the truth.

Ultimately, you can only ever write what you know. It's logically and philosophically impossible to write what you don't know.