“I wish I could sculpt my shadow into my night clone, and it could be out earning me money while I slept, instead of being folded up neatly in my underwear drawer like it is now.
”

“I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.”

“If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do—fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead. He’ll get my credit, and I’ll get his money.”

“Hopeless of the future, I wished but this- that my Maker had that night thought good to require my soul of me while I slept; and that this weary frame, absolved by death from further conflict with fate, had now but to decay quietly, and mingle in peace with the soil of this wilderness.”

“I wish I had money now. If only I’d saved my allowance growing up, instead of squandering it on balls, balloons, booze, and floozies.”

“I couldn’t steal an idea. Not even if my clone came up with it. But I could steal your heart—even if my clone had it stored in a cryogenic freezer.”