“If I waved that in front of a museum curator, he'd promptly lose control of his salivary glands.”

“Ben remembered reading about curators in "Wonderstruck", and thought about what id meant to curate your own life, as his dad had done here. What would it be like to pick and choose the objects and stories that would go in your own cabinet? How would Ben curate his own life? And then, thinking about his museum box, and his house, and his books, and the secret room, he realized he'd already begun doing it. Maybe, thought Ben, we are all cabinets of wonders.”

“Some of our greatest historical and artistic treasures we place with curators in museums; others we take for walks.”

“I waved my hand in front of my face, obi-wan style. "I am not here." Niall's mucas glands kicked into overdrive. "Eoin's dead! And his ghost is standing right there on the grass!" Donal let out a long suffering sigh. "Eoin is being a writer." Niall calmed down, becuase everyone knows writers are weird and are always doing stupid thingss.”

“It's the injustice that I hate, more than anything," he'd said to Smee one night, his eyes red and glassy, slurring his words, his head lolling as he tried to focus. He'd vomited, and then promptly passed out on a bush. "I hate the world that does not work out fair.”

“It came to me then that we're each something of a constant gardener of a million forgotten galaxies, a librarian of lost places and times, a curator of a museum of random details that really only matter to each of us.”