“I should take a photo.''No. Just remember it, and us in it.”

“Memories were just photos printed on synapses.”

“Sometimes I just can't stop thinking enough to turn off.”

“It didn’t take tragedy or war to derail a man. It took only a memory.”

“Then there were the negatives. How he missed negatives. They were the actual rays of light, bounced straight off a landscape, an object, a person, and scarred on to the film. Photographic negatives were the hardest evidence you could get of your memories. They were the char left by the fire, the bruise left on your skin. The same light that carried to your eyes, on the day of your photograph, that image of your mother, or your father, or your close friend, had recorded itself on the film. And now, staring at the photo on the wall of Ida's transparent toes against the bed sheets, he thought how similar her feet were to negatives: both subjects of that half-world between memory and the present. These were not real, flexible, treading toes, but a play of light that showed where toes had been.”

“It was just her and Midas in here, tucked away from the world. Here she could turn quietly into glass, with only love to distract her.”

“She had felt a collision with him and known that she had wanted this her whole life: to crash for just one moment into another person at such a velocity as to fuse with him.”