Stories were the way People lived. Like paths, they could be traveled in any direction, yet always ran from beginning to end. - John Crowley

Violet always said that in her part of England a single eyebrow marked you as a violent, criminal person, possibly a maniac.

"One page a day, seven a week, thirty or thirty-one to the month. Fishing in his pocket for a tip, he came up with his pen, a thick black fountain pen. Fountain: it seemed less flowing, less forthcoming than that, in shape more like a bullet or a bomb. ("Novelty")"

Sophie's hard first question to the cards had not, precisely, gone without an answer, it had been transmuted into questions about the question. It had branched and rooted like a tree, growing questions like buds, and then at some moment all the questions had become one question: what tree is this?