“I thought it was real. But by morning, all I had left were fragmented pieces, shifting images with no beginning or end.”

“Had I left those images hidden in the emotions, I might have been torn to pieces by them.”

“I took a look out the window before I left the room, though, to see how all the perverts were doing, but they all had their shades down. They were the heighth of modesty in the morning.”

“When I come to the end of my life ― when I come to the real end, at the right time, my mind may flash with random images... But I am not being hopeful about this when I say my last thoughts will be of love.”

“I think we’re always looking for new pieces,” Viola says quietly. What?She continues, “I was looking for Lawrence, then for something to replace Lawrence, then for Aaron… maybe that’s the real truth about being broken. We’re always whole, we’re just looking to add on to ourselves, to be more whole. And then when a piece leaves, it’s broken away. But we aren’t left any less whole than we were to begin with…”“But feeling broken—” I begin, the words tight in my throat. I’m grateful that Viola cuts me off. “Is horrible. Painful,” she finishes. “But then, when you aren’t expecting it, new pieces appear and suddenly…they’re attached.” Her eyes rise to meet mine. “And you end up more whole than you were before.”

“I woke up one morning to discover I had lost my religous faith, as if it were a suitcase left behind in a distant airport.”