Mama was crying, and the rain made it seem as if the whole world was crying.

The writer after all is only half the book, the other half is the reader.

Ellen had said that her mother was afraid of the ocean, that it was too cold and too big. The sky was, too, thought Annemarie. The whole world was: too cold, too big. And too cruel.

She fell asleep, and it was a sleep as thin as the night clouds, dotted with dreams that came and went like the stars.

The fact that I lost my son permeates my being.

- My instructors in science and technology have taught us about how the brain works. It's full of electrical impulses. It's like a computer. If you stimulate one part of the brain with an electrode, it... - They know nothing.

But there's a whole world waiting, still, and there are good things in it.