“It’s funny how memory erodes. If all I had to work from where my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp moments standing out.”
“But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness; dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say I’m sorry until it is as meaningless as air.”
“I stare at Clare, standing before me, and I am sorry to be here, sorry to ruin her Christmas. “I’m sorry, Clare. I didn’t mean to put all this sadness on you. I just find Christmas… difficult.”
“When I was growing up Henry came and went, so I always had this intense, unsatisfied feeling. Henry is constantly touching me, kissing me, making love to me. And he tells me things! But the best thing of all is that I know where to find him.”
“Sometimes I would give anything to open up Henry’s brain and look at his memory like a movie. I remember when I first learned to use a computer; I wanted to push my hands though the screen and get the real thing in there, whatever it was. I like to do things directly, touch the textures, see the colors. ”
“Henry is glancing around us, worrying that readers, co-workers are noticing us, searching his memory, realizing that some future self of his has met this radiantly happy girl standing in front of him.”
“And this astoundingly beautiful amber-haired tall slim girl turns around and looks at me as though I am her personal Jesus. My stomach lurches. Obviously she knows me, and I don’t know her. Lord only knows what I have said, done, or promised to this luminous creature.”
“I realize that I have forgotten my present Henry in my joy at seeing my once and future Henry, and I’m ashamed. I feel an almost maternal longing to go solace the strange boy who is becoming the man before me.”
[Clare] “If you could stop, now… if you could not time travel any more, and there would be no consequences, would you?”
[Henry:] “If I could stop now and still meet you?”
[Clare:] “You’ve already met me.”
[Henry:] “Yes. I would stop.”