“Evening was her special time of day. She gave the world three syllables and indeed I think she liked it so well for its tendency to smooth, to soften. She seemed to dislike the disequilibrium of counterpoising a roomful of light against a worldful of darkness. Sylvie in a house was more or less like a mermaid in a ship's cabin. She preferred it sunk in the very element it was meant to exclude.”

“She preferred her men less intense and less—well, just less. What she was looking for was control. This man wasn’t tame enough for her liking.”

“And the more she could imagine this island, the less she liked the real world. The more she could imagine the people, the less she liked any real people.”

“My ex girlfriend, she gave great log cabin. But she couldn’t write a speech like Lincoln. So I grew a beard and broke up with her.”

“I kind of like that she gave me a little bit of attitude. I mean, she's obviously super apologetic and she knows it's a horrible situation, and she's definitely nervous I might flip the fuck out on her, but she doesn't seem embarrassed. It's more like she thinks shit happens, and I should deal with it. I can respect that.”

“Her expression almost never changed. Made it hard to tell what she was thinking. But also made her seem separate from the rest of the world. It was like she lived so deep in the ocean even lightcouldn’t reach her. Like a fish that couldn’t see the dark lonely depths, because it was always dreaming about sunlight.”