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"Then how," Dex said, "how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?"

Mosscap considered. "Because I know that no matter what, I'm wonderful," it said.

There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgment, a simple truth shared.

"It doesn't bother you?" Dex said. "The thought that your life might mean nothing in the end?"

"That's true for all life I've observed. Why would it bother me?" Mosscap's eyes glowed brightly. "Do you not find consciousness alone to be the most exhilarating thing?”

You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don't know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don't need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do.

*Find the strength to do both," Mosscap said, quoting the phrase painted on the wagon.
"Exactly," Dex said.
"But what's both?"
Dex recited: "Without constructs, you will unravel few mysteries. Without knowledge of the mysteries, your constructs will fail. These pursuits are what make us, but without comfort, you will lack the strength to sustain either. "

So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?"

"I have it so good. So absurdly, improbably good. I didn't do anything to deserve it, but I have it. I'm healthy.
I've never gone hungry. And yes, to answer your question, I'm—I'm loved. I lived in a beautiful place, did meaningful work. The world we made out there, … It's a good world, a beautiful world. It's not perfect, but we've fixed so much.
We made a good place, struck a good balance.

"Who cares about memes?" Stacia texted Cherry, "Memes are ephemeral. I can't understand half the stuff I posted on Facebook ten years ago."
Cherry took the NBA meme and typed, The internet is forever on Baby's sign. She sent it to Stacia.
Stacia changed the sign to say, My ex-husband made me into a car-toon, and all I got was a million dollars and this chip on my shoulder.

It's about the collective, not the individual."
Lydia -"You're saying be less American, be more Soviet."
Joan laughed. "I absolutely did not say that!"
"Yeah," Lydia said, laughing. "You did. I'm going to tell everyone you said I needed to be more Soviet in my mentality, and you're gonna get kicked off LR7 for being unfit to serve and I'm gonna get your spot. I finally figured it out."

Joan felt, so acutely, that the incurable problem with life was that nothing was ever in balance. That she could not have toddler Frances and fifth-grade Frances at the same time. She could not meet adult Frances and have a moment to hold baby Frances all at once. You could not have a little of everything you wanted.

(So true!!!!)

Joan laughed, despite herself.
"Lydia Danes, as I live and breathe," Donna said. "Did you just make a good joke?"
"I can be funny, you know."
"No," Donna said. "Nobody knew that."

"I'm so annoyed," Joan said
"At me?" Lydia asked, with such a childlike vulnerability that it softened Joan's heart.
"No, at them. It's their fault we are fighting at all. I am actually mad at them, but instead I'm blaming you."
"Well, as you know," Lydia said, smiling, "women can be very irrational."

The world had decided that to be fallible was weak. But we are all fallible. The strong ones are the ones who accept it.

Joan had let men like Jimmy set the terms.

But the terms were false, even to him. He was just as scared as anybody else.

Bravery, Joan suspected, is almost always a lie. Courage is all we have.

She was trying to prove that she could be just like a man to all of them. To Jimmy. To Lydia. Because the world had decided that to be soft was to be weak, even though in Joan's experience being soft and flexible was always more durable than being hard and brittle. Admitting you were afraid always took more guts than pretending you weren't. Being willing to make a mistake got you further than never trying.

"Well, we are the stars," Joan said. "And the stars are us. Every atom in our bodies was once out there. Was once a part of them. To look at the night sky is to look at parts of who you once were, who you may one day be."

And Charlotte was finally whole. She knew the truth, and silently vowed to honor the memory of Hathorkare, to celebrate the rediscovery of her daughter, and to spend the rest of her days in Egypt among the whispers of ancient pharaohs and the joyful laughter of those she loved.

It was a play on the hotel's name. Mona guessed correctly that we had probably crossed paths."
"But how did you know it was me and not some other employee?"
"Your hair."

"When we were on the steps of the hotel that day, your headscarf came loose in the wind and I noticed the gray," said Annie. "But it wasn't until later, when Henry mentioned that Charlotte's silver streak was hereditary…

"That's how I knew who you were, but how did you find me?"
Fatima asked.
"Annie here figured it out," said Henry.
Annie shrugged. "Mona said that you had been 'right under our nose, and that it would be a 'very, very cold day in hell' when she told us where you were. She knew we'd been in Luxor and that you worked at the Winter Palace Hotel, where archaeologists were known to stay.

"But it's not historically accurate,"
said Marta.
"Don't worry about that. I prefer to blend fiction and fact. I call it faction."
Charlotte threw her hands in the air. "Now she's making up words?"