"The Lonely Planet," I said, "was a ghost wolf, with big, black eyes, a black nose, and blackness inside his ears. The rest of him was white and gray - except for his paws: those were black too - and inside his mouth, when he opened it, which wasn't very often, you could see his black tongue. Those were the parts that really existed: they were black because they were real - the rest of his body was like fog: if you tried to touch it, your hand would disappear inside - but, if you touched his nose, you would feel it, cold and wet on your fingertip. If you poked his eyes, you would feel the black jelly pushing your fingers back. If you stuck your finger inside his ear, you could stroke it; but the outside was like mist: if you tried to touch it, you would blow it away. Sometimes, when the wind blew really hard, you could see it blowing away his body."

– Verse 157 from the chapter called Childhood

Simply put, at the time, I had no idea what I was doing or where it would lead. I was not in control, despite exhibiting extraordinary amounts of it - which may have been what allured that strange creature to me in the first place. It was a desperate creature I faced: a creature deprived of something I couldn't understand: deprived of self: lacking self. It was lost under a cloud of something unknowable: a fog of unhappy sunshine pollution: photochemical smog. It was confusion personified. It was infancy: unripe and unwilling to ripen - needy and restive - ungrateful, unapologetic, and unlearned - demanding - fascinating - irresistible - not yet a woman, it was a woman - it wanted to be a woman - it wanted to be a mother - it was unfit for motherhood - it deserved it, avoided it, wanted it, rejected it - it was a human being - it embraced it - it was everything at once - too much and too little - it lacked a little prudence to be honest, but, as the product of a genius Creator God, it was a work of art - mysterious when penetrated. It was not a simple woman, to the say the least.

– Verse 440 from the chapter called Bohemia

"The young girl was frightened. 'If I let you lick my hand,' she said, 'my skin will burn.'

"'So it shall,' said the Wolf, 'but that, dear girl, is the price of truth.'

"'So be it,' she said. She held out her hand and the Wolf licked it.

"'You lie,' said the girl. 'It does not burn.'

"'I haven't yet told you the truth,' said the Wolf. 'The truth is: I did not kill your parents. I tried to warn them. They were lost in the fog, and your father, in his blindness, had led your mother to the side of a dangerous cliff. I tried to scare them away. I howled, but to no avail. Your father was too brave. He told your mother to stay by the side of the cliff while he took his gun and followed me. When he came back, he found your mother dead: a rock had fallen on her head. He took her back to your grandfather, but when he saw his daughter dead, he blamed your father for it. He locked him away, and took you from your crib.'

– Verse 185-189 from the chapter called Childhood

"What about his claws?"

"They were mist."

"Could they hurt you?"

"No: they would dissipate. But don't forget: his paws were real. They could hit you in the face - and the Lonely Planet must've been strong: he was the fastest thing on four legs - or, four paws, as the case was. He was so fast, he could outrun his own body - swear to God: if you were lucky enough to see him running by, you would see his tail was bigger by about six or seven feet: he would look hungry, 'cause he was thin - but that was just his body trying to catch up, like a comet - that's what people said his name was, before he died."

"Comet?"

"That's right. Sometimes, he ran so fast, he lost the whole thing: he would look at his paws and realize his whole body was gone. That's when he'd have to turn around and find it. In fact, if you ever went to the woods and came across a low, thin cloud of mist, you had to wonder: was this left by the Lonely Planet? 'Cause if so, you had plenty to worry about: without his body, the Lonely Planet was almost invisible. The same was true in the morning fog: he blended in. That's when he struck."

– Verses 160-165 from the chapter called Childhood

In those days, people didn't trust any central government. Americans didn't trust Washington. The Poles didn't trust Warsaw or Washington. Why should they have? They were fake cities, made by fiat. Nobody wanted to live there. Washington, D.C. had a foggy bottom; Warsaw had the worst soil around - what a perfect place for a capital! Berlin was a backwater town. What made them great? Power! Resources coordinated! Levée en masse! The spoils of war! Nothing else: they would still be villages. They are the most unnatural monsters ever created. People felt it. One by one, they started to wonder: why doesn't Washington, D.C. worry more about Washington, D.C.? Why doesn't Warsaw worry about Warsaw? What gives them the right to worry about everybody else? Why do we have capitals?

– Verse 86 from the chapter called Childhood