We cannot go backward,' Marco says. 'A great deal is not how it used to be.

I paint very messy. I throw paint around. So when I let myself do the same sort of thing with my writing, and I would just write and write and write and revise, that's when I found my rhythm in writing.

The funeral is a quiet one, despite the number of mourners present. There are no sobs or flailing handkerchiefs. There is a smattering of color amongst the sea of traditional black. Even the light rain cannot push it down into the realms of despair. It rests instead in a space of thoughtful melancholy.

People don’t pay much attention to anything unless you give them reason to

You prefer not to see the gears of the clock, as to better tell time.

...He is sure that the Bailey he is now is closer to the Bailey he is supposed to be than the Bailey he had been before

Could you do such things when you were a dancer?' Tara asks her, as Tsukiko pulls a leg up impossibly far over her head. 'I would have had a much busier social calendar if I could,' Mme. Padva replies with a shake of her head.