“She doesn't remember the twentieth century. Isn't that terrifying?”

“Our worst fear isn't the end of life but the end of memories.”

“What I really fear is time. That's the devil: whipping us on when we'd rather loll, so the present sprints by, impossible to grasp, and all is suddenly past, a past that won't hold still, that slides into these inauthentic tales. My past- it doesn't feel real in the slightest. The person who inhabited it is not me. It's as if the present me is constantly dissolving. There's that line from Heraclitus: 'No man steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.' That's quite right. We enjoy this illusion of continuity, and we call it memory. Which explains, perhaps, why our worst fear isn't the end of life but the end of memories.”

“She is a wonderful nerd, and he hopes this won't change.”

“So why do you kiss someone?" she asks. "To give pleasure or to take it?”

“She hasn't known many Southerners. That twang and aw-shucks about him--it's sort of exotic.”

“What's remarkable about fiction is that it places you in the unusual position of having no trajectory. You stand aside, motives abandoned for the duration. The characters have the trajectories now, while you just observe. And this stirs compassion that, in real life, is so often obscured by our own motives.”