Truth, At The Wrong Time, Can Be

A Novel Is A Mirror Walking Down A Road

There Was A Time When Mapmakers Named The Places They Travelled Through With The Names Of Lovers Rather Than Their Own.

All I Ever Wanted Was A World Without Maps.

We Are Expanded By Tears, We Are Told, Not Reduced By Them.

There Is The Hidden Presence Of Others In Us, Even Those We Have Known Briefly. We Contain Them For The Rest Of Our Lives, At Every Border That We Cross.