“Silas was tired of living in a world where everyone and everything held its breath.” — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“When we change the shape of the Land, we alter the contents and contexts of our collective, familial, and personal memories. Yet, stories can preserve both mythic and familiar elements of geography even when the physical features are forgotten, buried, or obliterated. And more than this: the stories can bring these elements back. If the Land can be preserved long… — Ari Berk Copy Share
“Here were love letters, the youth knew. Secret love letters. Unfound, still waiting somewhere beyond the mist. A young man’s words for this girl, maybe her words for him. Their private words for each other. Somewhere in the world, these letters sat hidden still, but might, at any moment, be found and read, calling her most cherished secrets from their… — Ari Berk Copy Share
“The day his dad didn’t come home, it was like a huge window over their heads had shattered, and every day they were walking… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“It was a stalemate Silas was willing to live with, and apparently, so was his mother. They both knew it wasn’t about the hem… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“Little things like time and generations don’t matter very much with good friends who are fond of each other’s company.” — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“He passed his hands over some of the fine embossed bindings as he thought, I am a book also, words and thoughts and stories… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“Just as you cannot wave your hands and reappear in your simple life before coming here, so you cannot merely clap them to wake… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“He just couldn’t be with people. There were a few kids he sometimes spoke with at school—at lunch, or walking home—but months ago even… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“What is it about traveling by night that makes even a short journey strange and a little wonderful? Momentary lights appear and pass across… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
“Here, in this house, her recollections glowed like embers on the hearth, and each night, in their warmth, she’d take a memory or two… — Ari Berk Copy Share Image
