“He shrugged. Confusion was like struggling to find the proper way to sit inside his skin.”

“Everything in his life had come down to the sensation of her fingers against his. The person he was, the history he carried within himself, every joy and grief he had ever experienced, slipped way like an irrelevant garment. He was nothing but skin, speaking to another skin, and between the skins there was no need to find any words.”

“He managed to find his way into my heart again and sabotage it from the inside.”

“He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find a way to touch his son without hurting him. “Jax…” he whispered, his eyes both young and old—pained and filled with joy.”

“He sits in his car at traffic lights on his way out sometimes and tries to estimate how many times he has sat here, waiting at these traffic lights on his way somewhere without you, hoping to meet someone with the capacity to consign you to an anecdote, to be eventually confused with others”

“Guy struck a jangling chord on the keyboards and then another. 'You know,' he announced, sitting back and crossing his arms. 'We need some new material. We’ve got to write some new songs.''Like what?'He shrugged. 'I don’t know. Throw out some ideas.''Love! Death! Existential struggle!' Emily intoned dramatically, rattling out a drumroll. 'Agriculture!”