“I knew books could see people around them, they ground their tiny teeth, tried to rattle like windows, stories to tell.”

“This is what I liked most about my friends: just sitting around and telling stories. Window stories and mirror stories.”

“Pictures never tell the whole story," I say trying to be reassuring. "They're a projection of how people want you to see them”

“I try to shake it loose-but these ideas, they cling. It's like I'm shackled to them with an iron chain. They rattle along behind me, dragging against the ground, always reminding me of their presence.”

“My daughter, people are only used to seeing the glorified in a story, because a story is only a tiny, tiny piece of a person’s life. Legends, sacred writings, they’re all like that. But I assure you, dear child, every one of those people up there on that wall felt like, thought like, and suffered like you!”

“Everything and all of them were being rattled around like peas inside an enormous rattle that was being rattled by a mad giant who refused to stop.”