“If you’re fifteen or so, today, I suspect that you inhabit a sort of endless digital Now, a state of atemporality enabled by our increasingly efficient communal prosthetic memory. I also suspect that you don’t know it, because, as anthropologists tell us, one cannot know one’s own culture.”
“What do you know that you’re not telling me?""I don’t know what you know, so I don’t know what you don’t know.”
“I know you’re just a rag doll now, sewn together with memories that we might have had. I know you’re just the dream inside of a dream And don’t worry, I know I don’t know you, anymore.”
“The easy confidence with which I know another man's religion is folly teaches me to suspect that my own is also.”
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked huskily.“I don’t know, but I suspect you’ll think of something.”
“Did you know I have always suspected that men were idiots," Daphne ground out, "but I was never positive until today.”