“Honey! Bring down a copy of my will - and an eraser!”

“Beauty brings copies of itself into being.”

“Killing me won't bring back your goddamn honey!”

“Cutting a tree down doesn't kill it; it erases it from history.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “There’s no one answer to that. You have tofind your own way. Sometimes I try to erase myself. I imagine a bigpink soft soap eraser, and it’s going back and forth, back and forth,and it starts down at my toes, back and forth, back and forth, andthere they go-poof!-my toes are gone. And then my feet. And then myankles. But that’s the easy part. The hard part is erasing my senses-myeyes, my ears, my nose, my tongue. And last to go is my brain. Mythoughts, memories, all the voices inside my head. That’s the hardest,erasing my thoughts.” She chuckled faintly. “My pumpkin. And then, ifI’ve done a good job, I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then theworld is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl.”

“That person, I can't remember who it was right now, who said the pen was mightier that the sword-I thnk they were wrong. I think the eraser is actually the most powerful tool. I wish there was an eraser that could erase the things a person did. And erase other people. Writing things down doesn't erase anything. What's done is done, and that really sucks.”