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'Let me see, you've been here three quarters of an hour. That's forty-eight cents.' She reached for her bag, she took out of a dollar bill, she handed it to him. 'Keep the change,' she said.

The greatest work of art of the European Ages is not a painting, not a sculpture, not a cathedral. It is 660 tons of oak, the timber-framed roof of Westminster Hall.

They’d studied the cars around them—when an entire family was uprooted and replanted in another country—whether it be American, Germany, Israel—and all ties to the motherland severed, the psychological burden was often managed to the detriment of mental integrity.

“To know a thing does not always enable us to prevent it, but at least the things we know we do hold, if not in our hands, at any rate in our minds, where we can dispose of them as we choose, and this gives us the illusion of a sort of power over them.”

“This looks like the last train from Shanghai.”
“What’s Shanghai got to do with it?”

“This looks like the last train from Shanghai.”
“What’s Shanghai got to do with it?”

I was looking at some of the photos and there's something sad about her face, a look in her eyes, as if she'd seen a ghost. It's almost like she knew something terrible was going to happen that night.

‘That was different,’ Egg insisted. ‘That was war.’
‘So is this. The same thing, only smaller.’
‘Smaller and stupider, ser.’

Noemí had not felt scared. Not until now.

“Good,” she said. “The one who think they’re ready always end up dead.”

Time travel, to the past, using emotions? Einstein wouldn’t have approved of this.

Thought leads to action, down bundled axons that terminate in the tools that make novels, factories, cathedrals, and nuclear bombs.

There is good evidence that octopuses truly think with their arms. That their central brain is not in control all the time—that in fact it may not be in control much of the time at all.

And of that colossal ruin, boundless and buried, the lone and level jungle stretched far away. Of imperial dreams and dead men, all that remained was long grass.

And one thing, as they sometimes do, led not to another, but shattered a world.

Was it wishful thinking to hope that meant they were out of the Remembrance and had moved on now, living quiet, unremarkable lives?

We can't protect our children we can't protect our children we can't protect our children.

Finished Purgatorio. Feeling pure and disposed to mount unto the stars of Paradiso.

'You can fly when you forgive me,' he said.

Distant Voices: Dublin’s burning! Dublin’s burning! On fire, on fire!

They could not alter your feelings; for that matter you could not alter them yourself, even if you wanted to. They could lay bare in the utmost detail everything that you had done or said or thought; but the inner heart, whose workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained impregnable.