He could hardly imagine anymore what his life would be without the weight of his hidden knowledge. He'd come to think of it as a kind of penance. It was self-destructive, he could see that, but that was the way things were. People smoked, they jumped out of airplanes, they drank too much and got into their cars and drove without seat belts.

That there were other worlds, invisible, unknown, beyond imagination even, was a revelation to him.

It's good to be in love.

I've been accused of trying too hard to rescue people

He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.

Short on money, long on hope

Its impossible to control the reception of your work - the only thing you can control is the experience of writing itself, and the work you create.