I Didn't Know The Inner Me Was

If You Didn't Have Me To Rake You Over The Coals Now And Then, There Wouldn't Be Any Fire In Your Life At All.

It Bewildered Ig, The Idea That A Person Could Not Be Interested In Music. It Was Like Not Being Interested In Happiness.

You Can't Let Facts Get In The Way Of The Truth.

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

Her Sanity Was A Fragile Thing, A Butterfly Cupped In Her Hands, That She Carried With Her Everywhere, Afraid Of What Would Happen If She Let It Go-or Got Careless And Crushed It.