I wondered if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped up in adult bodies, like children's books hidden in the middle of dull, long adult books, the kind with no pictures or conversations.

Watch out for that pedestrian!" "It's on the street, it knows the risks it's taking!

Where does contagion end and art begin?

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all.

I want to go home. Then he mentally underlined the last sentence three times, rewrote it in huge letters in red ink, and circled it before putting a number of exclamation marks next to it in his mental margin.

Real life doesn't have to be convincing, but fiction does.

Let's start a new tomorrow, today.