“And suddenly I feel weak, like every question in my head has collided against each other and won't let me think.”

“The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others.”

“Boredom reigns on all levels. The rain is a welcome change. I have seen the pond swell and the creek surge. I press my palm against the glass, imagining the drops on my skin, imagining where they started out, where they will go, feeling them like a river, rushing, combining, becoming something greater than how they started out.”

“Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)”

“what's fate to you, opal? she asks. opal leans back, too. oh, lots of things. lots and lots of things all pushed up against each other that makes something else happen. so much pushing it just can't happen any other way - unless you push back to make it not. ”

“What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.”

“My memory is coming back. It is curious how it comes. Each day, a rush of pieces, loosely connected, unimportant bits, snake through me. They click, click, click into my brain, like links being snapped together. And then they are done. A small chain of memories that fill in one tiny part of my life. They come out of nowhere, and most are not important.”