“Fifty-nine,” Mr. Mowen said. “That’s too many coincidences to just be a coincidence.” — Connie Willis

A cage is a safe place as long as nobody has the key.

Do you suppose Walter Hunt would have invented the safety pin if he had known that punk rockers would stick them through their cheeks?

I would never save her. I looked at the woman mopping up the tea, and it came to me that I could not save her either. Enola or the cat or any of them, lost here in the endless stairways and cul-de-sacs of time. They were already dead a hundred years, past saving. The past is beyond saving. Surely that was the lesson the history department sent me all this way to learn. Well, fine, I’ve learned it. Can I go home now?