“She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.”

“She thought to herself, "This is now." She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.”

“It is not like a premonition of death.It is as if she died a long time ago, and she just now remembered it.”

“She told me she’d never forget me as long as she lived, and I got offended, because what, as soon as she dies I’m forgotten? Gee, thanks. I see how much I mean to her.”

“The end of the story of Batman is he's dead. Because, in the end, the Batman dies. What else am I going to do? Retire and play golf? It doesn't work that way. It can't. I fight until I drop. And one day, I will drop.”

“Sifting through long forgotten stories of my childhood and writing on a daily basis, I became obsessed with following the threads of my memories, one leading to another. I start pulling on a single, seemingly trivial strand, only to discover it is attached to a longer strand; that one in turn is attached to an even bigger one. Sometimes, I find have tugged a whole, hidden tapestry of my past into view, one thread at a time.”