Increasingly I think of myself as some strange and solitary conductor, introduced to a group of very dynamic musicians who happen to be my characters, and I have no idea how they are going to play together, and I have certainly no idea how I am going to put manners on them.

Long ago, long ago. The simple things come back to us. They rest for a moment by our ribcages then suddenly reach in and twist our hearts a notch backward.

The Irish are great for their tunes, but all their lovesongs are sad and their warsongs happy.

We stumble on, thinks Jaslyn, bring a little noise into the silence, find in others the ongoing of ourselves. It is almost enough.

Pain's nothing. Pain's what you give, not what you get.

She's always thought that one of the beauties of New York is that you can be from anywhere and within moments of landing its yours.

I sit there thinking about how much courage it takes to live an ordinary life.