Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.

For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.

This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.

This is the language of the world before—a world of chaos and confusion and happiness and despair—before the blitz turned streets to grids, cities to prisons, and hearts to dust.

Do the other kids make fun of you? For how you talk?' 'Sometimes.' 'So why don't you do something about it? You could learn to talk differently, you know.' But this is my voice. How would you be able to tell when I was talking?

Music, I think, he makes me feel like music

This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.