Taking his time, as though he has all of it in the world, in the universe, from the days when tales meant more than they do now, but perhaps less than they will someday, he draws a breath that releases the tangled knot of words in his heart, and they fall from his lips effortlessly. "The circus arrives without warning.

...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

I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held.

Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more than the chaos without.

Even the air feels different on Halloween, autumn-crisp and bright.

Timing is a sensitive thing.

Do you remember all of your audiences?" Marco asks. "Not all of them," Celia says. "But I remember the people who look at me the way you do." "What way might that be?" "As though they cannot decide if they are afraid of me or they want to kiss me." " I am not afraid of you," Marco says.