“It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of spiders' webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade.”

“I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief.”

“As Livia dug her keys out of her pocket, she saw that Blake had been to her car.It was covered with little bits of nature: long blades of grass, twigs, and stones. When she got closer she saw more. Blake had used the flora to spell sorry over and over on the hood. And the roof. And the trunk.”

“I swear if you cry, I'll kill you here and now.'Cinna just smiles. 'Had a damp morning?''You could wring me out.' I reply”

“By now he had stared at the window through a late summer so hot and wet that the air both day and night felt like breathing through a dishrag, so damp it caused fresh sheets to sour under him and tiny black mushrooms to grow overnight from the limp pages of the book on his bedside table. Inman suspected that after such long examination, the grey window had finally said all it had to say.”

“MOTHER: (looking at her daughter who will hang in the morning) My dear... such a thin pretty neck... (crying) It will snap like a twig.”