It was deliciously pagan.

A capacity for inferiority in the growing adult is threatened by the temptation by squander that capacity ruthlessly, to revel in hallowness. The syndrom especially plaques anyone who lives behind a mask. An elephant in her disquise as a human princess, a scarecrow with painted features, a glittering tiara under which to glow and glide in anonymous glamour. A witch's hat, a wizards stole, a scholars gown, a soldiers dress sartorials. A hundred ways to duck the question: how will I live with myself now that I nkow what I know.

There were people everywhere but no one was mine, and I was no one's.

The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.

When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis, those who are the most themselves are the victims.

In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realize it is far more common for men to turn into rats.

Not an ugly color, Nanny thought. Just not a human color.