“Everything happens for a reason,” she said. “This will pass. Everything passes.”

Because he had been sleepwalking, Clark realized, moving half-asleep through the motions of his life for a while now, years; not specifically unhappy, but when had he last found real joy in his work? When was the last time he’d been truly moved by anything? When had he last felt awe or inspiration?

Characters carry over from one book to another, as do places, phrases, literature and music, forming connections like constellations in the same fictional sky.

he knew what being a tabloid story could do to a person, the corrosive effect of that kind of scrutiny.

although thoughts of Dieter carried a pain that was almost physical, like probing at an open wound.

The sound seemed strangely amplified, but she knew it was only the tension singing through her, her senses made acute by fear.

He wasn’t specifically sad anymore, but he was aware of death at all times.

whispering French to herself because all the horror in her life had transpired in English and she thought switching languages might save her,

What he didn’t tell her was that after all these years of corporate respectability, the haircut made him feel like himself again.