“Am I on your page?" Jesse asked.Rosie knew Jesse liked her, loved her, maybe, but this was not about that."Yes," Rosie said, making eye contact with Jesse. "How could you not be on my page? ... (But) even though we are on the same page, we see the page differently," Rosie had continued, enjoying the moment, "my page -- which I admit you are on -- is not the page that you think you are on. You will never see the page the same as me. You cannot look through my eyes and see what I see.”

“Am I on your page?" Jesse asked.Rosie knew Jesse liked her, loved her, maybe, but this was not about that."Yes," Rosie said, making eye contact with Jesse. "How could you not be on my page? ... (But) even though we are on the same page, we see the page differently," Rosie had continued, enjoying the moment, "my page -- which I admit you are on -- is not the page that you think you are on. You will never see the page the same as me. You cannot look through my eyes and see what I see.”

“It's as if I died too,' she whispered to herself, 'as if I was born dead.'Ironically, it was true. Emotionally she knew what her mind did not, beyond logic, beyond reason, as if somehow deep inside she felt what Sarah knew.”

“A girl about her own age reached out and took hold of her hand. The girl was tall and thin. She had long black hair streaked with red, and the whites of her green eyes stood out against the black coal dust that covered her face. Her blue and white dress hung in tatters, and was blackened by coal dust and smeared with blood. The girl smiled and Rosie could see that in her other hand she was holding her red umbrella.”

“Am I on your page?" Jesse asked.Rosie knew Jesse liked her, loved her, maybe, but this was not about that."Yes," Rosie said, making eye contact with Jesse. "How could you not be on my page? ... (But) even though we are on the same page, we see the page differently," Rosie had continued, enjoying the moment, "my page -- which I admit you are on -- is not the page that you think you are on. You will never see the page the same as me. You cannot look through my eyes and see what I see.”

“It occurred to Rosie that she couldn't hide either, even though the truth had been hidden from her. Now she was out from the shadows, out in the open for the first time in her life, standing in the harsh light.”

“She had a sense of longing and loss that she had never had before. It was as if her family history had been erased and they'd been left unmemorable.She imagined that Rachel's family must have similar feelings, but she did not try to share these thoughts with Rachel.”

“She couldn't put into words how desparately she wanted to know what had happened to Sarah. But she'd suddenly realized that Sarah was not the only one who had lost her memory of what happened when she was a little girl. Hundreds of thousands of people had lost their memories of what had happened to them ...”

“After centuries of silence, someone or something was lying outside on the stone step . . . “Are you deaf?” Death asked arriving abruptly with screams and cries and a fetid smell of rotting matter filling the room.“Why are you here?” the Old Crone asked, knowing the answer before she asked the question. “Go away.”“When someone knocks you’re supposed to open the door!” Death said, coughing as though she had swallowed a lot of water.“What are you doing here?” the Old Crone asked again “and why are you amorphous? Show yourself! I don’t like it when you look like nothing at all.”“Open the door!” Death rasped, appearing as a drowned cat coughing up minnows and river detritus. “Our future depends upon it!”

“You survived,” Death said, appearing again as Cat. “They were vicious. If they’d –”“– Don’t go there.”“You’ve always known really bad people are following you,” Death said, softening what she was going to say. “But did you know I’ve been following you too?”“Why?” Word asked, not getting it.“Simple,” Cat said. “If I keep you alive many others won’t die.”

“Standing side by side children with our heads together, we are trying to understand their learning based on what we observe as they use the social, technical, symbolic, and material resources at their disposal.”

“Our ways of seeing are democratic. Unfortunately, they are not bureaucratic. Except in rare circumstances, I no longer believe that it is possible to be both, because when it becomes bureaucratic the struggle is not about pedagogy, it's about power. About who controls the activities that occur in schools. About who controls who participates in American society. About who controls the power base of the twenty-first century.”