“You're sure? I thought I heard someone.""Nope, not a soul," Blake said. "Get it. Soul. Because we're in a church.”

“I don't lie.""You don't lie," I repeated."That's what I said.""Ever.""Nope."Sure you don't, I thought.”

“I am the most unhappy soul alive.""I'd heard it said that fairies have no souls.""Then do I ache, and bleed, and smart, elsewhere; still, call it soul for it is solely mine.”

“I hope you know how rare a girl like Livia is.”Blake nodded, but said nothing.“I’ve only met a few souls as crystal clear as hers,” Bea continued. “One of them was my Aaron; we were married for sixty-two years. Souls like that, my boy, are a gift. Cherish her.”“I will.” Blake stood and gave Bea a formal bow only he could get away with.”

“I have heard it very often said that an artist does not need intelligence, that his is the province of the soul”

“i don't know what your situation is but i wanted you to know what mine is not just to explain some rude behavior, but because we're on a little boat for a while and... i'm soul sick. and you're going to see that.”