“And I began to feel sorry for myself; for so many years, my drawer full of memories had held the same old stories.”

“I think memory is the most important asset of human beings. It’s a kind of fuel; it burns and it warms you. My memory is like a chest: There are so many drawers in that chest, and when I want to be a fifteen-year-old boy, I open up a certain drawer and I find the scenery I saw when I was a boy in Kobe. I can smell the air, and I can touch the ground, and I can see the green of the trees. That’s why I want to write a book.”

“Her mind had been a blank story for so many years, and, suddenly, all the pages were filled with lost memories.”

“I turned to him and kissed him, slowly lingeringly, my hands running over the hard, smooth curves and angles of his body. It wasn't that first kiss so many months before. This one was big and complicated and full of colours and textures. It held stories in it, and memories, and that made it even better.”

“This was a memory I wanted to keep, whole, and recall again and again. When I was fifty years old I wanted to remember this moment on the porch, holding hands with Cameron while he shared himself with me. I didn’t want it to be something on the fringes of my memory like so many other things about Cameron and myself.”

“Before I had a chance to feel too sorry for myself, I turned toward the front of the cabin and found the bookcases carved right into the wall. Hundreds of leather-bound volumes rested in dim alcoves. I had no idea what stories or information they held. It didn’t matter. I wanted to absorb anything they had to say.”