“We welcome our beloved dead." Determined, I lifted my eyelids and searched the room. The feather in Mrs. Thompson's white curls bounced in a draft. Mr. Hunt's whiskers quivered. Lord Marshall sat entirely too near to Mother; his knee must surely be pressed against hers. The candle flickered. Someone cleared their throat. The poodle whined, bored.No spirits. They'd been hounding me all week; the least they could do was show themselves when they were needed. It was just rude otherwise. "Spirits," I snapped. "I said you are welcome here." Colin coughed once. "As long as you mean us no ill," I amended, remembering the surge of the angry spirit at the Whitestone Manor pond.”

“I reached up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Do not be too angry with Father. He did not mean it not really." "Angry? I feel rather sorry for him. We are kindred spirits," he observed with a wry twist of his mouth. "How so?" "We both suffer because you will not understand how utterly essential you are to our happiness.”

“Mom said, "His spirit is there," and that made me really angry. I told her, "Dad didn't have a spirit! He had cells!" "His memory is there." "His memory is here," I said, pointing at my head. "Dad had a spirit," she said, like she was rewinding a bit in our conversation. I told her, "He had cells, and now they're on rooftops, and in the river, and in the lungs of millions of people around New York, who breathe him every time they speak!”

“I was not really angry: I felt for him all the time, and longed to be reconciled; but I determined he should make the first advances, or at least show some signs of an humble and contrite spirit, first; for, if I began, it would only minister to his self-conceit, increase his arrogance, and quite destroy the lesson I wanted to give him.”

“I wondered what kind of girl she'd be, and if she'd ever see the comet that was her name, and Grandma Halley's, and mine. I knew I'd try, one day, to take her and show her the sky, hold her against my lap as I told her how the comet went overhead, how it was clear and beautiful, and special, just like her. I hoped that Grace would be a little bit of the best of all of us; Scarlett's spirit, and my mother's strength, Marion's determination, and Michael's sly humor. I wasn't sure what I could give, not just yet. But I knew when I told her about the comet, years from now, I would know. And I would lean close to her ear, saying the words no one else could hear, explaining it all. The language of solace, and comets, and the girls we all become, in the end.”

“To be angry is to yield to the influence of Satan. No one can make us angry. It is our choice. If we desire to have a proper spirit with us at all times, we must choose to refrain from becoming angry. I testify that such is possible.”