“The first night Stephen and I slept together, he whispered numbers into my ear: long, high numbers -- distances between planets, seconds in a life. He spoke as if they were poetry, and they became poetry. Later, when he fell asleep, I leaned over him and watched, trying to picture a mathematician's dreams. I concluded that Stephen must dream in abstract, cool designs like Mondrian paintings.”

“Other nights, Ayrs likes me to read him poetry, especially his beloved Keats. He whispers the verses as I recite, as if his voice is leaning on mine.”

“I must not sleep. If he slept, he might dream.”

“Do you really believe in destiny?" "How can I not believe in destiny, when there is no difference between my memories and my dreams at night? There's no difference between their reality. And if I dream something first, I remember it later when I am actually walking in the place or looking at the person I first dreamed of. Days later. Or years later. Destiny~ she walks with me.”

“You're not going to say hi to Thomas?" I whispered. He didn't look at me when he spoke, watching his family hug and laugh. "I got one night with you. I'm not going to waste a second of it.”

“every night i say prayers for him just so he knows that when my dayends and i'm ready to dream he will always be one of the last wakingthoughts i have and perhaps one of the first dreams of my sleepingnight...”