There are some books that reached through the noise of life to grab you by the collar and speak only of the truest things.

The only way we know it's true is that we both dreamed it. That's what reality is. It's a dream everyone has together.

that since Cecilia’s suicide, the Lisbon’s could hardly wait for the night to forget themselves in sleep

Three times a day Petrovich showed up at the nurse's office for his injections, always using the hypodermic needle himself like the most craven of junkies, though after shooting up he would play the concert piano in the auditorium with astounding artistry, as though insulin were the elixir of genius.

I don’t know what you’re feeling, I won’t even pretend

Every novelist should possess a hermaphroditic imagination.

She'd become an English major for the purest and dullest of reasons: because she loved to read.