“How many 'inventions' are really memories, of the things we once knew?”

“How many things do I have to invent in my head to survive this?”

“How many memories can come through at once before they are just jumbled words and faces mixed together by years of pain?”

“Once, in my father's bookshop, I heard a regular customer say that few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart. Those first images, the echo of words we think we have left behind, accompany us throughout our lives and sculpt a palace in our memory to which, sooner or later—no matter how many books we read, how many worlds we discover, or how much we learn or forget—we will return.”

“Memories are fragile things to hold, but many times, it's what we have.”

“A wise man once remarked that we can count how many seeds are in the apple, but not how many apples are in the seed.”