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her remembered face like the distant familiar beauty of stars, not to be touched but to shine in front of his eyes at night.
The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal.
When people died, it felt like all the pieces of yourself you had given to them went as well. It took so long, building yourself back up until you were whole again, and you were never entirely the same.
That was what humans did: They left one another messages through time, pressed between pages or carved into rock. Like reaching out a hand through time, and trusting in a phantom hoped-for hand to catch yours. Humans did not live forever. They could only hope what they made would endure.
Wallowing was for elephants, depressing people, and depressing elephants.
“We owe a great deal to human love. We live forever by the grace of human love, which rocked strange children in their cradles and did not despair and did not turn away. I know which side of my heritage my soul comes from.
“Our fathers were demons,” said Catarina. “Our mothers were heroes.
