My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can’t bear to think that he might love somebody else.

only when it rains. and sometimes, too, when i remember.

It strikes me how strange people are. You can see them every day - you can think you know them - and then you fшnd out you hardly know them at all.

I am growing stronger. I am a stone being excavated by the slow passage of water; I am wood charred by a fire.

The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.

And we did, and it wasn’t bad. We ate the whole stupid can, we were so hungry. And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.” I’m gasping, feeling as though I am about to drown; I’m reaching for him blindly, grabbing at his collar.

Is it possible to tell the truth in a society of lies? Or must you always, of necessity, become a liar?