There is no God, there is only what you want.

I decided that if I was never going to sell anything as long as I lived, I might as well do what I want to do 'cause then at least I would've done what I wanted to do in life. What's that worth?

She would buy magic every day of the week. Love me, that face said. I'm so lonely, so desperate. I'll give you whatever you want.

What happened to a dream without a dreamer?

Who was I, really? I was the sole occupant of my mother's totalitarian state, my own personal history rewritten to fit the story she was telling that day. There were so many missing pieces. I was starting to find some of them, working my way upriver, collecting a secret cache of broken memories in a shoebox.

A cliché is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.