“an' that cold hand o' wind was Old Georgie's hand, yay, the devil what was standin' there wavin' a crookit spoon.”

“Yay, Old Uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds, an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.”

“The spoon bends the world. The whole ceiling nestles in the bowl of the spoon. The bowl of the spoon cups the light in the room and serves it up. I offer my hands to receive it, themselves a cup but winged, hinged like the wings of a bird. The light in the spoon, too, flies; it has entered my eyes, but soft with the sound of wind in leaves. The leaves, my shelter. The cup, my shelter. Your hands, my shelter. The light, shelter. Who doesn't have one asks, "Who needs a house?"A faithful spoon bends the world to offer it up as what the heart likes best to eat. A hungry heart is good at spotting spoons. The hungry spoon? Its hungriness allows it to feed the rest of us. Its emptiness my home.”

“She puts her hand forward. "Come on, let's do a yay team!"Blake immediately puts her hand on top of Nia's."I'm not doing that," I say."Wolfie, do not deny us this simple pleasure. C'mon."I roll my eyes and put my hand on top of theirs."Yay team!" Squeals Blake. And she's supposed to be the sensible one.”

“They dined on mince, and slices of quinceWhich they ate with a runcible spoon;And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,They danced by the light of the moon.”

“But I'm getting to it. I can't come at it cold. I'm warming my hands over old stories.”