She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love– nothing, now, but bones.
You can’t stop time. You can’t capture light. You can only turn your face up and let it rain down.
… the Iroquois take dreams very seriously. They see them as the secret wishes of the soul–the heart’s desire, so to speak. Not all dreams, maybe, but the important ones. [p.254]
After all these years, I feel so free. Who knows where I might fly?
No one could suspect the intricate mysteries of her heart.
The thing is, I used to like that: feeling special because I knew something no one else did. It’s a kind of power, isn’t it, knowing a secret? But lately I don’t like it so much, knowing this. It’s not really mine to know, is it?
Once, this whole world had been hidden beneath a shallow sea.
Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.
She imagined herself as some sort of vessel to be filled up with love. But it wasn’t like that. The love was within her all the time, and its only renewal came from giving it away.
It seemed there was no end at all to the lies a person could tell, once she got started.
He’d kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.
In some deep place in her heart, Caroline had kept alive the silly romantic notion that somehow David Henry had once known her as no one else ever could. But it was not true. He had never even glimpsed her.
Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.
Photography is all about secrets. The secrets we all have and will never tell.
Then she had been a fiancee, a young wife, and a mother, and she had discovered that these words were far too small ever to contain the experience.
Think of it, Dad. What if I have it in me to do that, and I don’t try?
The world beyond the water was a blue of green and stone and blue. A moment later Yoshi pushed through, the water pouring down in sheets so smooth it looked like glass, and stepped into the calm [p. 296]
Each letter has a shape, she told them, one shape in the world and no other, and it is your responsibility to make it perfect.
You’re right, Norah, anything can happen, anytime. But what goes wrong isn’t your fault. You can’t spend the rest of your life tiptoeing around to try and avert disaster. It won’t work. You’ll just end up missing the life you have.
You don’t know when you are immersed in a book what the reaction to it will be, but I feel great about ‘The Lake of Dreams.’
I lived for two years in Odawara, a castle town an hour outside of Tokyo, near the sea. It’s a beautiful place, and I drew on my experiences there when writing ‘The Lake of Dreams.’
‘The Lake of Dreams’ grew gradually, over many years, elements and ideas accruing until they gained enough critical mass to become a novel.
You don’t want to engage in road rage when the person in the next car might be your child’s future teacher or your dentist’s father.
My first job was in a nursing home – a terrible place in retrospect. It was in an old house, and the residents were so lonely. People rarely visited them. I only stayed there a couple of months, but it made a strong impression on me.