Smile with instinct, then lick your wounds in the darkest of dark corners. Trace the scars back to your own fingers and remember them.

Better that we leave the paint behind," Hans told her, "than ever forget the music.

The thrill of being ignored!

No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

A book floated down the Amper River. A boy jumped in, caught up to it, and held it in his right hand. He grinned. He stood waist-deep in the icy, Decemberish water. “How about a kiss, Saumensch?” he said.

The point is, it didn’t really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.