I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.

A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself.

Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.

She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.

A book's flaws make it less predictable.

Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.

Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.