“When I answered that I did not pray, he sternly rebuked me. "You're in Hell. You'd better start".”

“I cried myself to sleep every one of those nights you went out. I was in hell, praying for daylight when you'd be with me and not them”

“I think you'd be much better of marrying ME.""Miss Moore, are you proposing to me?" He affected a shocked tone."Yes Mr. Rathburn, and you'd better answer fast or I will rescind my offer.""Don't do that." His grip on my hand tightened. "Yes, Jane. My answer is yes.”

“Why do you pray?" he asked me, after a moment. Why did I pray? A strange question. Why did I live? Why did I breathe?"I don't know why," I said, even more disturbed and ill at ease. "I don't know why."After that day I saw him often. He explained to me with great insistence that every question possessed a power that did not lie in the answer. "Man raises himself toward God by the questions he asks Him," he was fond of repeating. "That is the true dialogue. Man questions God and God answers. But we don't understand His answers. We can't understand them. Because they come from the depths of the soul, and they stay there until death. You will find the true answers, Eliezer, only within yourself!" "And why do you pray, Moshe?" I asked him. "I pray to the God within me that He will give me the strength to ask Him the right questions.”

“Bloody hell," he gasped. "Harry. There's a *knife* in my leg. When did *that* happen?""In the duel," I told him. "Don't you remember?""I thought you'd stepped on me and sprained my ankle," Ramirez replied. Then he blinked again. "Bloody hell. There's a *knife* in my guts." He peered at them. "And they match.”

“I think I know who you are," he finally said. "It took me a minute, since you're better looking than I thought you'd be, but I think I've got it.”