We are all ghosts,” Morris Klapper said at last. “We are conceived in a moment of death and born out of ghost wombs, and we play in the streets with other little ghosts, chanting ghost-rhymes and scratching to become real. We are told that life is full of goals and that, although it is sadly necessary to fight, you can at least choose your war. But we learn that for ghosts there can only be one battle: to become real. A few of us make it, thus encouraging other ghosts to believe it can be done.

It lingers in this room like the voices that still echo here, some belonging to a man who’d once been alive, and the rest belong to others who’ve never drawn breath.

Maybe because I knew Haze and Kate so well by then the passage leapt out at me, clear and sharp as diamond.

“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath…He’s always,
always in my mind: not as a pleasure any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.

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