Her sanity was a fragile thing, a butterfly cupped in her hands, that she carried with her everywhere, afraid of what would happen if she let it go-or got careless and crushed it.

The soul is an irrational, indivisible equation that perfectly expresses one thing: you. The soul would be no good to the devil if it could be destroyed. And it is not lost when placed in Satan's care, as is so often said. He always know exactly how to put his finger on it.

She liked things that had been written by people who had lived short, ugly, and tragic lives. Or, who at least, were English.

Her sanity was a fragile thing, a butterfly cupped in her hands, that she carried with her everywhere, afraid of what would happen if she let it go-or got careless and crushed it.

I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.

Pick a sin we can both live with, is what I ask.

What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.