That deep, can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth sleep.

Her library filled her bookshelves and then overflowed into waist-high stacks of books everywhere, piled haphazardly against the walls. If just one of them moved... the domino effect could engulf the three of us in an asphyxiating mass of literature.

The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, there was no longer anyone to remember with.

You're not boring. You've got to stop saying that, or people will start believing you.

I'm a grenade, I just want to stay away from people and read books, and think.

What's the point in being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable? How very odd, to believe God gave you life, and yet not think that life asks more of you than watching TV.

Margo says, "I know what she's talking about. The something deeper and more secret. It's like cracks inside of you. Like there are these fault lines where things don't meet up right.