This place is like somebody’s memory of a town, and the memory is fading. It’s like there was never anything here but jungle.
This is a world where nothing is solved. Someone once told me, time is a flat circle. Everything we’ve ever done or will do, we’re gonna do over and over and over again.
Kids are the only thing that matter, Maggie. They’re the only reason for this whole man-woman drama.
I think about my daughter now, and what she was spared. Sometimes I feel grateful. The doctor said she didn’t feel a thing, went straight into a coma. Then, somewhere in that blackness, she slipped off into another deeper kind. Isn’t that a beautiful way to go out, painlessly as a happy child? Trouble with dying later is you’ve already grown up. The damage is done. It’s too late.