“You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.”

“For you can't hear Irish tunes without knowing you're Irish, and wanting to pound that fact into the floor.”

“That's what people who love you do: they hold you and lie. They tell you that you're worthy, that everything will be all right, and they do that even when you both know without a doubt that this is not true, that is it nowhere near the truth.”

“You're a beautiful drunk, daughter. But you're a drunk.”

“And yes. They did become very drunk, the three of them.And you're not supposed to be drunk when you get involved in matters such as this: Big Matters, Matters of an Apocalyptic Nature. You're supposed to be coldly sober. And you just can't be coldly sober when you're drunk.”

“Lie there panning, looking, all ribs and elbows and dilated eyes. The awake floor is littered with gear and dirty clothes, blond hardwood with sealed seams, two throw-rugs, the bare waxed wood shiny in the windows' snowlight, the floor neutral, faceless, you cannot see any face in the floor, awake, lying there, faceless, blank, dilated, playing beam over floor again and again, not sure all night forever unsure you're not missing something that's right there: you lie there, awake and almost twelve, believing with all your might.”