“The light of a hunter's moon bleached the unresisting pastels from the faces of the towers, so that they looked like titanic ribs of bone, and shadows accrued like crusted blood under the walkways.”

“I have stared into the light and you are all my shadows.”

“On into the void he flies, unafraid. There is nothing in mere absence that can cow him. Or loneliness. Or the lack of maps and charts. For he is his own path. And he sees by his own light. We watch him from a great distance. From a vantage point no less subjective, no less absolute. And so it's hard to tell whether he imposes himself on the emptiness, or becomes it.”

“All stories are lies. But good stories are lies made from light and fire. And they lift our hearts out of the dust, and out of the grave.”

“And there's a darker side to Peckham, too, once you get in deep: a side I like a lot more, because I identify with the past and prefer even worm-eaten wood to wipe-clean plastic.”

“I'll be fine ' Pen told me a little curtly. 'Where are you going anyway ' 'The United States. Alabama.' 'Looking for a change of scene ' 'Looking for a dead woman.' 'Get Jenna-Jane Mulbridge to come down here and I'll make you one.”

“Could it hurt to take a look? The answer was yes, of course. It's always yes. But I went anyway.”