To Say Nothing of the Dog (Oxford Time Travel, #2)

by Connie Willis

Because around a crisis point, even the tiniest action can assume importance all out of proportion to its size. Consequences multiply and cascade, and anything—a missed telephone call, a match struck during a blackout, a dropped piece of paper, a single moment—can have empire-tottering effects.

Infatuation was a lot like time-lag, an imbalance of chemicals, cured by a good night’s sleep.

There is nothing more helpful than shouted instructions, particularly incomprehensible ones.

One has not lived until one has carried a sixty-pound dog down a sweeping flight of stairs at half-past V in the morning.