“Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies, an' tho' a cloud's shape nor hue nor size don't stay the same, it's still a cloud an' so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow? Only Sonmi the east an' the west an' the compass an' the atlas, yay, only the atlas o' clouds.”

“I watched clouds awobbly from the floor ' that kayak. Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies, an' tho' a cloud's shape nor hue nor size don't stay the same, it's still a cloud an' so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow? Only Sonmi the east an' the west an' the compass an' the atlas, yay, only the atlas o'clouds.”

“The thoughts that occur to me while I’m running are like clouds in the sky. Clouds of all different sizes. They come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky always. The clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.”

“What wouldn't I give now for a never-changing map of the ever-constant ineffable? To possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.”

“Then He who loves me drew me very near Him, and there in the stillness he reminded me about the time He prayed in the garden under the shadow of the cross-shaped cloud. He had prayed until He literally sweat blood; He prayed for another way if possible, and yet He prayed for God's will to be done and not His own. I looked at Him and noticed the thorn scars on His brow, which in the shadowed light of clouds seemed more pronounced, and I thought of Him hanging in agony on the cross as His Father turned His face away and He cried from the depths of His soul, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" I wondered about the disciples and Jesus' friends who stood that day at the foot of the cross. They must have felt so sad and frightened and alone as Jesus breathed His last, and the cloud of death engulfed them and took their beloved Jesus from them, along with all their hopes and dreams. When the clouds seemed darkest and the storm raged about them, behind it all God was working out His plan with precision timing and perfection. Three days later as the clouds of grief hung thick and heavy, Mary Magdalene went early to the tomb; and it was there, as the eastern sky was just waking up, it revealed with breathtaking beauty that Jesus had walked out of the tomb: the stone rolled away, the cloud of death lifted.”

“It wasn't a pretty sunset. The colors were as expected: violet clouds, bright orange and pink underneath, against the pale blue sky. But the clouds were high cirrus, wispy, and crossed with the contrails of F-16s, a colorful glowing mess. I said, "It looks like God barfed a rainbow.”