At times the whole sky was ringed in shooting points and puckers of light gathering and falling, pulsing, fading, rhythmical as breathing. All of a piece. As if the sky were a pattern of nerves and our thought and memories traveled across it. As if the sky were one gigantic memory for us all.

Time is the water in which we live, and we breathe it like fish. ... Time pours into us and then pours out again. In between the two pourings we live our destiny.

What happens when you let an unsatisfactory present go on long enough? It becomes your entire history.

Our tribe unraveled like a coarse rope, frayed at either end as the old and new among us were taken.

Her clothes were filled with safety pins and hidden tears.

We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall.

Women are strong, strong, terribly strong. We don't know how strong until we're pushing out our babies.