“There were still choices to be made, decisions to reach, actions to take. Many of them. But in one...single declaration of intent, we stepped across the threshold of war.”

“A cold supper, were you thinking? I asked dubiously.I was not, he said firmly, I mean to light a roaring fire in the kitchen hearth, fry up a dozen eggs in butter, and eat them all, then lay ye down on the hearth rug and roger ye 'till you - is that all right? he inquired, noticing my look.'Til I what? I asked fascinated by his description of the evening's program.'Til ye burst into flame and take me with ye, I suppose, he said, and stooping, swooped me up into his arms and carried me across the darkened threshold.”

“The room was as big as the Duke of Pardloe's library and had at least as many books, and yet the feeling of it was more akin to a small cluttered hole (Pardloe's)You could tell from the books whether a library was meant for show or not, Books that were usedhad an open, interested feel to them, even when closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order. You felt as though the book took on as much interest in you as you did in it and it was willing you to reach for it.”

“In war, government and their armies were a threat, but it was so often the neighbors who damned or saved you”

“You could tell from the books whether a library was meant for show or not. Books that were used had an open, interested feel to them, even if closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order with their fellows. You felt as though the book took as much interest in you as you did in it and was willing to help when you reached for it.”

“It was one of those strange moments that came to him rarely, but never left. A moment that stamped itself on heart and brain, instantly recallable in every detail, for all of his life. There was no telling what made these moments different from any other, though he knew them when they came. He had seen sights more gruesome and more beautiful by far, and been left with no more than a fleeting muddle of their memory. But these-- the still moments, as he called them to himself-- they came with no warning, to print a random image of the most common things inside his brain, indelible.”

“How many 'inventions' are really memories, of the things we once knew?”