The world that birthed that story is long gone, all its people are dead, but it continues to touch the present and future because someone cared enough about that world to keep it. To put it in words. To remember it.

Writing isn't letters on paper. It's communication. It's memory.

The sports arena Julie calls home is unaccountably large, perhaps one of those dual-event 'super venues' built for an era when the greatest quandary facing the world was where to put all the parties.

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.

A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.