Quotes from Aislinn Hunter

This is the wonder of names. Like the press of a footprint in the snow: proof that someone has been there.

This is why we have to stay awake, be vigilant: we need to believe that we, like the museum objects around us, bear time with equal complexity, that eventually we might discover who we have been, what purpose we serve and what use we might one day be.

She kisses him because he is a good kisser, because he is sweet, because for the last hour she has only been here; and because he is a gentleman who wants to bring her another blanket that will smell of dust and old straw, who paid for their drinks with the only ten-pound note left in a wallet that had a strip of Velcro on it.

For some of us, listening to him was like being pricked repeatedly with a pin—the sensation a discomfort radiating out from its point of entry. A poem of nerve ends, of images that stitched you up in a zigzag pattern and then scissored you open again.

Those of us who have been with Jane the longest want to whisper to her, Look how that boy is seeing you. To show her how open he is to the possibility of who she might be, how attenuated to her gaps and omissions.