“My favorite moment in Jeanne Moreau's latest movie--a comedy called The Summer House--takes place in a kitchen, when she proclaims that every human has something to cry about. When mocked by the owner of the kitchen and pressed to say what it is that we have to cry about, she tosses back her head of flaming red hair and says, "The winds of solitude roaring at the edge of infinity.”

“This is the best night of my life," Raffy says, crying."Raffy, half our House has burnt down," I say wearily. "We don't have a kitchen.""Why do you always have to be so pessimistic?" she asks. "We can double up in our rooms and have a barbecue every night like the Cadets."Silently I vow to keep Raffy around for the rest of my life.”

“She is standing on my lidsAnd her hair is in my hairShe has the colour of my eyeShe has the body of my handIn my shade she is engulfedAs a stone against the skyShe will never close her eyesAnd she does not let me sleepAnd her dreams in the bright dayMake the suns evaporateAnd me laugh cry and laughSpeak when I have nothing to say”

“When she opened her eyes, the outside door was filled with flame. The propane tank by the kitchen could blow any minute. That left the bedroom back window.”

“Hi,' he says.'Hi,' she says back, and then to her great surprise, she begins to cry.'You know,' Nick says as he hands her a tissue from the bedside table,' for all this talk about how you don't cry, you sure are sprouting a lot of water.”

“Mark.” She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, her entire world anchored on his finger. When it slid inside her, she thunked her head back against the door and panted. Then his thumb brushed her in a slow circle.She cried out against his lips, arching into him, yanking his hair. She couldn’t help it. She was going up in flames. He merely pressed her hard to the door, locking her in place. Continuing the torture, he added another finger. She came hard and fast, the power of it sweeping over her like a tidal wave.”