“Ydych chi'n cymryd cerdynnau credid?" said the highwayman, no doubt trying to frighten me further, his consonants chained like anal beads strung out of hell's own bunghole.”

“There is nothing worse than silence, strung like heavy beads on too delicate a conversation.”

“... had ideas, crazy, late-night fantasies strung together like a paper-clip chain.”

“She smiled, pulling the photo a little closer, and I wondered if I should ask her, too, the question for my project, get her definition. But as she ran a finger slowly across the faces, identifying each one, it occurred to me that maybe this was her answer. All those names, strung together like beads on a chain. Coming together, splitting apart, but still and always, a family. (page 289) ~Ruby”

“...you found me in my lonely labyrinth and like Beatrice, led me out of my own hell...”

“You can try to change New York, but it’s like Jay-Z says: “Concrete bunghole where dreams are made up. There’s nothing you can do.”