“- How does it feel to have a daughter?- At times it's like holding a warm egg in my hand.”

“I feel like a carton of eggs holding up an elephant.”

“For Breakfast I like my coffee warm and cozy and my eggs funny side up.”

“What's that look for? It's not like I did it for you. It's just, I couldn't shake off that warm hand, is all. That's why this is stupid. This...feeling that I have.”

“And other times there would be tenderness and holding-close liek a warm bath, and hands stroking my hair and brow, and the words carved about the cathedral of my childhood: 'He's like all the other children. He's a good boy.”

“And then there's the truth beyond that, sitting like an old rock under green creek water: none of these things matter. Right now, in this moment, we have love. We have it in the sound of my daughter's laugher, in Mom's and Georgia's locked fingers, in the warm pressure of J.T.'s hand. It will leave, and it will come again, and when it does I'll give up everything and take it. Just like an addict. Like dry grass in new rain. It's not something I'm proud of necessarily. Then again, maybe I am.”