“If she and Sam ever had kids, they'd be gluten-intolerant out of self-defence.”

“Sam: “You—you greatly overestimate my self-control.”Grace: “I’m not looking for self-control.”

“Sam,' the girl said. 'Sam.'She was the past present and future. I wanted to answer , but I was broken.”

“Sam," she said, and I crushed her to me.”

“Sam?" Rachel asked. "Do you know you have the saddest sad face ever?”

“Of all the things I found puzzling about Sam, this one was always the most puzzling: his sudden, self-deprecating mood swings... Was this what it meant to be creative?”

“I settled on the floor and whispered to Sam, “I want you to listen to me, if you can.” I leaned the side of my face against his ruff and remembered the golden wood he had shown me so long ago. I remembered the way the yellow leaves, the color of Sam’s eyes, fluttered and twisted, crashing butterflies, on their way to the ground. The slender white trunks of the birches, creamy and smooth as human skin. I remembered Sam standing in the middle of the wood, his arms stretched out, a dark, solid form in the dream of the trees. His coming to me, me punching his chest, the soft kiss. I remembered every kiss we’d ever had, and I remembered every time I’d curled in his human arms. I remembered the soft warmth of his breath on the back of my neck while we slept.I remembered Sam.”