On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.

I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.

There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.

it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets

...and time becomes a forgotten detail.

Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.