“The boy spends most of his time reading. And writing, of course. He copies out sections of books, writes out words and symbols he does not understand at first but that become intimately familiar beneath his ink-stained fingers, formed again and again in increasingly steady lines.”

“And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines.”

“Trapped in silence, Marco traces apologies and adorations across Celia's body with his tongue. Mutely expressing all the things he cannot speak aloud.He finds other ways to tell her, his fingers leaving faint trails of ink in their wake. He savors every sound he elicits from her.The entire room trembles as they come together.And though there are a great many fragile objects contained within it, nothing breaks.”

“Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind...."Trust me," Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.”

“I find I think of myself not as a writer so much as someone who provides a gateway, a tangential route for readers to reach the circus. To visit the circus again, if only in their minds, when they are unable to attend it physically. I relay it through printed words on crumpled newsprint, words that they can read again and again, returning to the circus whenever they wish, regardless of time of day or physical location. Transporting them at will.When put that way, it sounds rather like magic, doesn't it?”

“This card entitles the holder to unlimited admission is imprinted on one side in black ink, and on the reverse it reads: Le Cirque des Reves and in smaller letters beneath that: Chandresh Christophe Lefevere, Proprietor”

“The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.”