Black Rabbit Hall

I think adults must get sort of worn away over time, like rocks out at sea, but remain who they are, just slower and grayer with those funny vertical wrinkles in front of their ears. But the young are a different shape from one week to the next. To know us is to run alongside us, like someone trying to shout through the window of a moving train.

If you live in the past, you're only living half a life

...too often it's only children and old people who speak the truth. You just have to slow down and listen.

Ghosts are everywhere, not just the ghost of Momma in the woods, but ghosts of us too, what we used to be like in those long summers.

Don’t be silly. One is never too old for sandcastles.

I’m struck with my own sheer luck in getting my mother out of all the millions of potential mothers in the world. I lost her. But I’d

wonder then if all children just love the things that make their mothers happy. If that’s what it comes down to, really.

where the sun and moon hang like a question and an answer.

But the young or a different shape from one week to the next. To know us is to run alongside us, like someone trying to shout through the window of a moving train.

Or maybe it's just that there is something repugnant about being old, so close to the end, and not at peace.

walking towards them now, shadow long and leggy, the sun a tinned peach half behind him.

the little red Fiat turns off the road, then rolls like a drop of blood down the wet green drive, the canopy of trees locking tight behind them.