"There it is, flagging in my mind’s eye. 1993. As though it bore more weight than the years that came before or after, as if all time weren’t equally fleeting and its passage—already twenty-five years—impartial."
"What were my memories of rivers, now that I lived on an island whose thoughts were turned seawards, where rivers looked shallow and pretty, noticeable only when they frayed into flats, or cut deep channels as they flowed out to sea?"
"Bella Altamirano entered the shop called El Descanso, owned by Rosa Quintero, her best friend. She greeted Rosa with a kiss that the shopkeeper returned automatically while wrapping up some herbs in newspaper and counting out the money a young girl was paying for them."
