“The merry-go-round was running, yes, but...It was running backward.The small calliope inside the carousel machinery rattle-snapped its nervous-stallion shivering drums, clashed its harvest-moon cymbals, toothed its castanets, and throatily choked and sobbed its reeds, whistles, and baroque flutes.”

“Say, darling, I'm giving you this wonderful present, it's a machine that eats at one end and shits out the other, it's going to run for fifteen years, give or take, merry fucking Christmas.”

“A lie can run round the world before the truth has got its boots on.”

“For God sake, quirky isn't something you date; it's something you make fun of until it totally loses it, runs to its bedroom, throws itself face down on its Barbie comforter, and sobs into its diary about how everyone's so mean.”

“Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.”

“I feel the hate,Welling up inside,And it's to late,Nowhere to run and hide.”