“It could be enough, maybe, or at least a start, but the problem is that at night I tumble into dreams that aren't dreams at all. I tumble into memories and wake up aching for a dying world and a quiet, cold life that offered me nothing but sitting in a still room.”

“I...have been in that weird state between dreaming and waking, where dreams could be memories and the real world could be a dream.”

“Memories fall like snowflakes upon my dreams. The snowflakes toss and tumble, each different and yet the same.”

“Maybe you've tumbled a world for me. And I don't know what I can build in my world's place.”

“Maybe dreams aren't in your head. Maybe dreams are memories of another universe.”

“One night I dreamed of an angel: I walked into a huge, empty bar and saw him sitting in a corner with his elbows on the table and a cup of milky coffee in front of him. She’s the love of your life, he said, looking up at me, and the force of his gaze, the fire in his eyes, threw me right across the room. I started shouting, Waiter, waiter, then opened my eyes and escaped from that miserable dream. Other nights I didn’t dream of anyone, but I woke up in tears.”