The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?

There is a freedom, after all, in being forgotten

Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.

“But isn’t it wonderful,” she says, “to be an idea?”

Here is a new kind of silence, rarer than the rest. The easy quiet of familiar spaces, of places that fill simply because you are not alone within them

“But when you live long enough, even madness ends.”

she can hear the smile in his voice when he answers

A life reduced to a block of stone, a patch of grass.

A life reduced to a block of stone, a patch of grass.

it’s hard to entirely discount the presence of a higher power when he recently sold his soul to a lower one