Sometimes,' Sylvie Said, 'one Can Mistake Gratitude

When I'm Writing, My Neural Pathways Get Blocked. I Can't Read. I Can Barely Hold A Conversation Without Forgetting Words And Names. I Wish I Could Wear The Same Clothes And Eat The Same Food Each Day.

Sylvie's Knowledge, Like Izzie's, Was Random Yet Far-ranging, 'the Sign That One Has Acquired One's Learning From Reading Novels Rather Than An Education.

Julia's Vocabulary Was "chock-full" Of Strangely Archaic Words - "spiffing," "crumbs," "jeepers" - That Seemed To Have Originated In Some Prewar Girls' Annual Rather Than In Julia's Own Life. For Jackson, Words Were Functional, They Helped You Get To Places And Explain Things. For Julia, They Were Freighted With Inexplicable Emotion.

I Am Mad, I Think. I Am Mad Therefore I Think. I Am Mad Therefore I Think I Am.

In The End, It Is My Belief, Words Are The Only Things That Can Construct A World That Makes Sense.