“Together, the two began the kind of conversation that flows seamlessly, unstoppably, each fork begetting another branch of common interest, a conversation that continues until this day.”

“If we Americans are to learn from our mistakes, from the flailing, ineffective way we, as a nation, conducted the war on terror after the attacks of 9/11, and from the way we have failed to make our case to the great moderate mass of peace-loving people at the heart of the Muslim world, we need to listen to Greg Mortenson. I did, and it has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.”

“Profanity is the common crutch of the conversational cripple.”

“This divergence of experience was not a stumbling block to conversation; indeed, it was what made the conversation interesting.”

“Two weeks until your cure" she says finally. "Sixteen days" I say, but in my head I'm counting: Seven days. Seven days until I'm free and away from all these people and their sliding superficial lives brushing past one another gliding, gliding, gliding from life to death. For them there's hardly a change between the two.”

“I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.”

“Crossing the Swamp"Here is the endlesswet thickcosmos, the centerof everything—the nuggetof dense sap, branchingvines, the dark burredfaintly belchingbogs. Hereis swamp, hereis struggle,closure—pathless, seamless,peerless mud. My bonesknock together at the palejoints, tryingfor foothold, fingerhold,mindhold oversuch slick crossings, deephipholes, hummocksthat sink silentlyinto the black, slackearthsoup. I feelnot wet so much aspainted and glitteredwith the fat grassymires, the richand succulent marrowsof earth—a poordry stick givenone more chance by the whimsof swamp water—a boughthat still, after all these years,could take root,sprout, branch out, bud—make of its life a breathingpalace of leaves.”