The Night Circus - Pg 508

   There are so many paces to begin.
   So many elements to consider.
   He wonders if the poem of the circus could possibly be bottled.
   Widget takes a sip of his wine and puts his glass down on the table. He sits back in his chair and steadily returns the stare aimed at him. Taking his time as though he has all of it in the world, in the universe, from the days when tales meant more than they do now, but perhaps less than they will someday, he draws a breath that releases the tangled knot of words in his heart, and they fall from his lips effortlessly.
   "The circus arrives without warning."