“...if anyone bothered to search through the laurel bordering the asphalt he'd surely find handfuls of teeth that were said to give the laurel its odd milky color, ivory with a pale pink edge, each blossom forming the shape of a bitter man's mouth.”

“In no time the perennial borders were thick with rosy-pink foxglove and cream-colored lilies, each of which hung like a pendant, collecting dew on its satiny petals.”

“Angel and Muse approach from without; the Angel sheds light and the Muse gives form (Hesiod learned of them).  Gold leaf or chiton-folds: the poet finds his models in his laurel coppice. But the Duende, on the other hand, must come to life in the nethermost recesses of the blood.”

“Grover cradeled his laurel sapling in his hands. "Well . . . sure is good to be back together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look It's our floor”

“Her ivory hands on the ivory keysStrayed in a fitful fantasy,Like the silver gleam when the poplar treesRustle their pale leaves listlessly,Or the drifting foam of a restless seaWhen the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.”

“Robina Fairfax's mouth opened in a smile which revealed teeth that could only have been her own, so variously coloured and oddly shaped were they.”