“Come, butterflyIt's late-We've miles to go together.”

“Why is it, every time I go the mile, another mile comes up?”

“You remember how homesick I used to get, and what long talks we used to have coming from school? We've someway always felt alike about things.""Yes, that's it; we've liked the same things and we've liked them together, without anybody else knowing. And we've had good times, hunting for Christmas trees and going for ducks and making our plum wine together every year. We've never either of us had any other close friend. And now---”

“Little sleep's-head sprouting hair in the moonlight,when I come backwe will go out together,we will walk out together among,the ten thousand things,each scratched too late with such knowledge, the wages of dying is love.”

“We wasted ten years and you're worried about a few thousand miles? Hell, we've got airplanes, we've got email, they've invented fucking cell phones. Jesus, if it comes down to it, I'll even write you a fucking letter.”

“Come on, Marianna! Women are like Priuses—although we can go for miles and miles without it, sometimes we still need to get filled up!”