“So, Mr. Nick,' murmured the valet, applying shaving soap to his employer's face with an ivory-handled brush, 'are you writing a book?'Damn him, thought Lerner. He knows I detest conversation with a razor at my throat.'My memoirs,' he muttered. 'A few jottings only. Waiting to die is such a bore, I write to pass the time.' ("The Overseer")”

“Well, we all come to it in time - we are broken down to ground-level, and must construct ourselves anew. If we survive, we become stronger: with few exceptions we do not become better. For most of us, when all else has failed, turn to the demon. ("The Overseer")”

“Low down dirty ornery rotten skunk of a cussed mule-headed soldier! What's he want with my book anyway? And what kind of a way is that to write a congratulations? I am so mad I could walk clear to that fort and take him on single handed.”

“I was about to tell him he was wrong to dwell on it, because it really didn't matter. But he cut me off and urged me one last time, drawing himself up to his full height and asking me if I believed in God. I said no. He sat down indignantly. He said it was impossible; all men believed in God, even those who turn their backs on him. That was his belief, and if he were ever to doubt it, his life would become meaningless. "Do you want my life to be meaningless?" he shouted. As far as I could see, it didn't have anything to do with me, and I told him so. But from across the table he had already thrust the crucifix in my face and was screaming irrationally, "I am a Christian. I ask Him to forgive you for sins. How can you not believe that He suffered for you?" I was struck by how sincere he seemed, but I had had enough. It was getting hotter and hotter. As always, whenever I want to get rid of someone I'm not really listening to, I made it appear as if I agreed. To my surprise, he acted triumphant. "You see, you see!" he said. "You do believe, don't you, and you're going to place your trust in Him, aren't you?" Obviously, I again said no. He fell back in his chair.”

“it may not always be so; and i saythat if your lips, which i have loved, should touchanother's, and your dear strong fingers clutchhis heart, as mine in time not far away;if on another's face your sweet hair layin such a silence as i know,or suchgreat writhing words as, uttering overmuch,stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be-you of my heart, send me a little word;that i may go unto him, and take his hands,saying, Accept all happiness from me.Then shall i turn my face,and hear one birdsing terribly afar in the lost lands.”

“XVIILady, i will touch you with my mind.Touch you and touch and touchuntil you giveme suddenly a smile,shyly obscene(lady i willtouch you with my mind.)Touchyou,that is all,lightly and you utterly will becomewith infinite carethe poem which i do not write.”

“Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that God's writing? If I were writing a book, I might make mistakes. But God knows how to make the story end just right--in the way that's best for us."Do you really believe that, Mother?" Peter asked quietly.Yes," she said, "I do believe it--almost always--except when I'm so sad that I can't believe anything. But even when I don't believe it, I know it's true--and I try to believe it.”