I like the word clandestine. It feels medieval. Sometimes I think of words as being alive. If clandestine were alive, it would be a pale little girl with hair the color of fall leaves and a dress as white as the moon.

Please promise to take the very best care of my only girl. With so much love my heart might split in two...

Watching people is a good hobby, but you have to be careful about it. You can’t let people catch you staring at them. If people catch you, they treat you like a first-class criminal. And maybe they’re right to do that. Maybe it should be a crime to try to see things about people they don’t want you to see.

I felt like I had proof that not all days are the same length, not all time has the same weight. Proof that there are worlds and worlds and worlds on top of worlds, if you want them to be there.

The sun kept on with its slipping away, and I thought how many small good things in the world might be resting on the shoulders of something terrible.

Because maybe I don't want to leave the planet invisible. Maybe I need at least one person to remember something about me.