The Scar (New Crobuzon, #2)

by China Miéville

‘“If it’s nearly right, but it isn’t quite, better to have none, than make do with one,”’

There was a caustic pain as he peeled off a clot of old life and exposed himself open and unsure to her, to new air. Breathing fast again. His feelings welled out and bled together (their festering ceased) and they began to resolve, to heal in a new form, to scar.

Scars are not injuries, Tanner Sack. A scar is a healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole.’

For every action, there’s an infinity of outcomes. Countless trillions are possible, many milliards are likely, millions might be considered probable, several occur as possibilities to us as observers – and one comes true.

And the more I wrote … the more I write, the more I need to say, the more I need to be quite, quite open.

I ain’t got nothing. I’ve got nothing. In time, in time they tell me, I’ll not feel so bad. I don’t want time to heal me. There’s a reason I’m like this. I want time to set me ugly and knotted with loss of you, marking me. I won’t smooth you away. I can’t say goodbye.