“On the Vanity of Earthly GreatnessThe tusks which clashed in mighty brawlsOf mastodons, are billiard balls.The sword of Charlemagne the JustIs Ferric Oxide, known as rust.The grizzly bear, whose potent hug,Was feared by all, is now a rug.Great Caesar's bust is on the shelf,And I don't feel so well myself.”

“Look!" She pointed, a smile on her face. "Wild pigs!""They have razor-sharp tusks, so don't try to hug one.”

“Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised?Known unto these, and to myself disguised?I'll say as they say, and persever so,And in this mist at all adventures go.”

“...the innocent seriousness with which she told her story and I'd listened to so often and myself told-- wide eyed hugging in heaven together-- hipsters of America in the 1950's sitting in a dim room-- the clash of the streets beyond the window's bare soft sill.”

“And I think that in myself (and perhaps evident in what I write) fear of loss and the corresponding instinct to protect myself against loss are potent forces.”

“So hell, maybe we just killed the last grizzly in the world. I'd feel bad about that if it hadn't been an infected zombie bear that wanted to eat my delicious flesh.”