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We don’t have time, Nephew, time has us. It holds us in its mouth like an owl holds a field mouse. We shiver. We struggle for release, and then it pecks out our eyes and intestines for sustenance and we die the death of field mice.”

but nothing is original, everything comes from something that came before, which was once nothing.

We are the memories we don’t remember, which live in us, which we feel, which make us sing and dance and pray the way we do.

همه‌ی ما قصه های پریان خودمان را می سازیم.

مادرش هم یکی از آن زن هایی بود که به جای یافتن قدرت در قلب خود، در مرد ها دنبال آن می گشت.