“A bird in the hand loses its mystery in no time flat.”

“she's never forgotten, either, how a mystery caught in the hand could lose its grace”

“The crafty otter produced a flat pebble from his helmet, spat on one side of it, and held it up for the bird to see. 'Right, I'll spin ye. Dry side, I win, wet side, you lose. Good?' The honey buzzard nodded eagerly... Buteo's keen eyes watched every spin of the stone until it clacked down flat on the deck. Garfo grinned from ear to ear. 'Wet side! You lose!”

“You needn't tell a bird it's a bird. Or remind a fish of its purpose. It's only us who lose our way. We have names because we must. - from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter”

“It's true all the time everywhere or it's not true! And that one truth is always Mystery.”

“He unfixes the metal notch and slips his hand around the body of the bird. Feels its heat, its small heart beating. He stares at the bird's bright orange eyes. Like the color of the bird's wings in the painting. Or the small touch of lichen on the rock by the Japanese woman's foot. Natalia did not truly see the painting. Is it excitement of the unknown that pulled her away, or despair? He know the answer. He returns the bird to its cage, pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, and writes, Paris Will lose, but there is a woman who will fight without fear because she believes she has already lost everything. [pp. 1722-173]”