“The ears had a pinkish color—a real lively color, like if The Head had stepped out in the cold of the previous night and come back in the morning. Simon marveled at the thought that El Chato had really killed this man with a saw.”
“He knew that feeling, his lungs filling up with the glycerin-like fluid of a new day, and himself gargling and grasping for regular air, the air in his bed, the air with the windows closed. He felt small, and had tried imagining other people’s windows, but felt weird because he couldn’t comprehend the number of windows in the world.”
“I was a swimmer in the night. The moon on my face, I dove off rocks and cliffs. I swim in my dreams and they sound like the breaths of fish past my face.”
“She saw eyes that enjoyed staring, ears that indulged in eavesdropping, and a mind that ruthlessly analyzed what her senses discerned. She saw hands that took these findings and selected food accordingly, cut food accordingly, chewed food accordingly.”
“Fairy-tales like this weren’t supposed to be true. He felt that if he didn’t say anything, then none of it was real. And if it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be taken away from him.”
