Chapter 18

• This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter
• But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It’s lack of love we die from.
• The things I believe can’t all be true, though one of them must be. But I believe in all of them, all three versions of Luke, at one and the same time.
• “I am like a room where things once happened and now nothing does, except the pollen of weeds that grow up outside the window, blowing in as dust across the floor”
• Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I too am disembodied.
• They might as well be nowhere, as I am for them. I too am a missing person.
• I pray that at least one hole is neatly, quickly, and finally through the skull
• “I believe this. I also believe that Luke is sitting up, in a rectangle somewhere”
• “I’ll have to revise that”
• “In reduced circumstances you have to believe all kinds of things.”
• There must be a resistance, or where do all the criminals come from on the television?
• “This contradictory way of believing seems to me, right now, the only way I can believe anything. Whatever the truth is, I will be ready for it.”
• The body is so easily damaged, so easily disposed of, water and chemical is all it is, hardly more to it than jellyfish, drying on sand.
• Whatever the truth is, I will be ready for it.
• he will get me out, we will find her, wherever they've put her. She'll remember us and we will be all three of us together.
• It's this message, which may never arrive, that keeps me alive. I believe in this message.