Little Goddess: Dreams are real. The real real. This world is only there so we can dream away. I am my own in my dreams, full and unbroken, and I can see beauty around, where the fierce are fierce and the meek are meek and all are real. All I can bring to this world are tiny reminders of that unity. All I do is scraping stardust in my dreams and blowing it in people’s faces in this sorrowful realm, making them smile and wonder. And then I smile and wonder. And then I rejoice and sing and dance. And then they cry. Good, wholesome, healing tears. Not enough tears like that.

Tonó: Being unsettled is good. Thoughts must be awhirl. Or we die. Or worse, live dead.

Señor Palermo: If you look carefully, the genuine ones are as if faded. As if walking shadows. As if disoriented. Out of time, out of place. Because out of this time and out of this place. The mundane world is for sleepwalking in gray. The colours are elsewhere, where passion, flair and grace abounds, where songbirds sit on our shoulders and flowers.