“The painted aircraft took on sunlight and pulse. Sweeps of color, bands and spatters, airy washes, the force of saturated light—the whole thing oddly personal, a sense of one painter’s hand moved by impulse and afterthought as much as by epic design. I hadn’t expected to register such pleasure and sensation. The air was color-scrubbed, coppers and ochers burning off the metal skin of the aircraft to exchange with the framing desert.”

“What makes people is not bone structure and eye color, but the force of their personalities. the years of experience painted on their faces.”

“I'm painting color squares. Onesquare - one color. That's what I paint.”

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow. but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.”

“He'd done his walls with paint from Holy Basil. God, I yearned for their colors. I hadn't been able to afford them myself but I knew their color chart like the back of my hand. His hall was done in Gangrene, his stairs in Agony and his living room--unless I was very much mistaken--in Dead Whale. Colors I personally very much approved of.”

“In this land of great opportunity and few roads (in most regions the Alaskan Highway is the only real road), the immense distances can only be reasonably handled by air, in fact, half of all the private aircraft in the world are registered in Alaska. Near any urban center, such as they were, I couldn't look up into the sky without seeing at least one fixed wing clawing itself into the sky.”