You shouldn't do that," said Laura. "You could set yourself on fire.

But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.

Optimism means better than reality; pessimism means worse than reality. I'm a realist.

Once upon a time, novelists of the 19th century, such as Charles Dickens, published in serial form.

There's blood, a taste I remember. It tastes of orange popsicles, penny gumballs, red licorice, gnawed hair, dirty ice.

Why can't I believe? she asked the darkness. Behind her eyelids she saw an animal. It was golden colour, with gentle green eyes and canine teeth, and curly wool instead of fur. It opened its mouth, but it did not speak. Instead, it yawned.It gazed at her. She gazed at it. "You are the effect of a carefully calibrated blend of plant toxins," she told it.Then she fell asleep.

Neither of us says the word love, not once. It would be tempting fate; it would be romance, bad luck.