Looking at these books now, I know where the real beauty is at and what's real enough to be beautiful.

I know if she is not read soon enough, she'll disappear but her terms and conditions lay ignored, forgotten and she remains unreadable.

She's the girl from everywhere indeed, build all the times machines you want to but no time can ever get me back to her. It's her who is dangerous not time travel.

December? December is not coming ever again and winter is gone. There is no Ariel. The man in the moon quit long ago, don't you know? It's not the dead who's walking.

But she'll always be my November. Even though all those months between us, hers is the memory I still can't paint, even when she's the one who gave me that memory.

I know that now.