“Writing stories is my way of scratching that itch: my escape from the claustrophobia of individuality. It lets me, at least for a while, live more than one life, walk more than one path. Reading, of course, can do the same.”

“At the door, there was one of those moment when two people realize that they like each other more than they know each other. This is nicer than the opposite situation, but more awkward. You try to remember the protocol for touching. You hate to gush, or presume to much, yet you are unwilling to let the moment pass without without some gesture”

“...by her family circle. That was my phrase, one that could include me by some stretch of the imagination; 'circle' sounded too symmetrical, but it would have to do.”

“When Jack just rescued her Ma's, just succeeded doing the Great Escape:"Want to go to Bed.""They'll find us somewhere to sleep in a little while." "No. Bed.""You mean in Room?" Ma's pulled back, she's staring in my eyes."Yeah. I've seen the world and I'm tired now.”

“And it did me no good to recall particular conversations (if indeed these were particular conversations I was remembering so vividly, rather than inventions of my uneasy brain). Remembering clarified nothing.”

“I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened.”

“Ma's still nodding. "You're the one who matters, though. Just you."I shake my head till it's wobbling because there's no just me.”