But there were moments when she played songs that made you wonder where she learned them, where indeed she came from. Harsh-tender wandering tunes with words that smacked of pinewoods or prairie. One went: Don’t wanna sleep, Don’t wanna die, Just wanna go a-travelin’ through the pastures of the sky; and this one seemed to gratify her the most, for often she continued it long after her hair hard dried, after the sun had gone and there were lighted windows in the dusk.

Traveling wears me out.

Have you never heard what the wise men say: all of the future exists in the past.

I'm one of the world's greatest pencil sharpeners.

Are the dead as lonesome as the living?

How do I look so young? Quite simple: a complete vegetable diet, 12 hours sleep a night, and lots and lots of make-up.

And since gin to artifice bears the same relation as tears to mascara, her attractions at once dissembled.