Now all the mute objects of my life seem to tell my story, to stretch back in time, if I look closely enough.

Lux spent the ride dialing the radio for her favorite song. "It makes me crazy," she said. "You know they're playing it somewhere, but you have to find it.

no reason to mention my peculiarities, my wandering in the maze these many years, shut away from sight. and from love, too.

There is a small window of opportunity for freckled girls to tan.

Just like ice, lives crack, too. Personalities. Identities.

To start with, look at all the books.

Where else would she feel more comfortable than in this subterranean realm where people wrote down what they couldn't say, where they gave voice to their most shameful longings and knowledge?