"What I wanted to do seemed so simple. I wanted to create something alive and shocking enough that it could stand beside a morning in somebody's life. The most ordinary morning."
"[The story] was full of a love complex and ravenous, ancient, neither this nor that. It will serve as this afternoon's manifestation of the central mystery itself, the elusive brightness that shines from the edges of certain dreams; the brightness which, when we awaken is already fading from our minds, and which we rise in the hope of finding, perhaps today, this new day in which anything might happen, anything at all."
"Why is it so impossible to speak plainly, to ask the important questions? What are the important questions?"
"She feels the presence of her own ghost; the part of her at once most indestructibly alive and least distinct; the part that owns nothing; that observes with wonder and detachment, like a tourist in a museum."
"It seems possible that she slipped across an invisible line, the line that has always separated her from what she would prefer to feel, what she would prefer to be. It does not seem impossible that she has undergone a subtle but profound transformation, here in this kitchen, at this most ordinary of moments: she has caught up with herself... She will not lose hope."
"There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though one knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more."
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