“For as is often the happenstance with that which is precious and lost, when you find him again, he may well not be quite as you left him.”

“I promise to charm the dickens out of him,' said Will, sitting up and readjusting his crushed hat. 'I shall charm him with such force that when I am done, he will be left lying limply on the ground, trying to remember his own name.''The man's eighty-nine', muttered Jem. 'He may well have the problem anyway.”

“You might want to get up," he said. "Everyone will be here quite soon to rescue you, and you may prefer to have clothes on when they arrive." He shrugged. "I would, at any rate, but then, I am well known to be remarkably shy.”

“He wondered if normalcy was something, like vision or silence, you didn't realize was precious until you lost it.”

“Now that the real and the imagined had collided, he wondered if she, like he, longed for the past, for the normal. He wondered if normalcy was something, like vision or silence, you didn't realize was precious until you lost it.”

“It is what is left to him," said Will. "Do you not recall what he says to Lucie? 'If it had been possible... that you could have returned the love of the man you see before yourself- flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misure as you know him to be- he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you misery, bring you to sorrow and repetance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him”

“You think she’ll be able to talk sense into him?” she asked. “His sister?”"If he listens to anyone, it would be her.”“That’s sweet,” said Maia. “That he loves his sister like that.”“Yeah,” Simon said. “It’s precious”