I loved her, atom by atom, one burning cell at a time.

The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” “Elton John?” “Close. Ernest Hemingway. In his own way, sort of the rock star of his time.

Nobody the dead man & Nobody the living Nobody is giving in & Nobody is giving Nobody hears me but just Nobody cares Nobody fears me but Nobody just stares Nobody belongs to me & Nobody remains No Nobody knows nothing All that remains are remains

My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper. She lived.

Stupid to the power of stupid.

The way she told it, she was such a criminal even the most God-fearing church ladies got bored of reporting on her; she did the marketing on Sunday, dropped by any church she liked or none at all, was a feminist (which Mrs. Asher sometimes confused with communist), a Democrat (which Mrs. Lincoln pointed out practically had "demon" in the word itself), and, worst of all, a vegetarian (which ruled out any dinner invitations from Mrs. Snow).

Are you kidding? I'm supposed to put my books in this filthy tin coffin?