What? she said once to herself, and then once aloud, What? She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much - so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins - without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?

Succotash my cocker spaniel, you fudging crevasse-hole dipshiitake!

I need an office, so I can have a place where I don't write.

Only someone who'd never been an animal would put up a sign saying not to feed them.

My life story is the story of everyone I've ever met.

I think after you live it's like before you lived.

Why does watching a dog be a dog fill one with happiness?