“He died of a breaking heart," Pete said, making a stout log fence of his hands around the glove compartment and leaning forward to peer at the luminous clock, "but he was an old man. He was the king of his Yaquis down there and he couldn't live any more when they took the land away. He couldn't live up in the mountains that way. He hid all the treasures - you understand treasures? - in the mountains down there and he died. Now I'm the king of my Yaquis and someday I'll go down there and dig up the treasures again - maybe soon if they don't catch me too much. Then I buy the land back and we will live in the future like in the past only better." Pete let the fence fall, and sunlight showed the clock to be hours wrong, if not years.”

“He stopped and took my hand. "If we die, or if I die..."He was speaking of dying, and I couldn't stop smiling.In the dark he must not have noticed, because he said in a rush, "I must tell you that I love you, and if I live I will ask for your hand, but you needn't say anything now if it distresses you, and I might rather die without knowing that you don't love me if that's how you feel."I tried to speak, but nothing came. I had gained courage during my adventures, but not for this."Addie?"Too soft to hear, I whispered, "I do love you."But he heard. He cupped his hand under my chin and tilted my face up so I had to meet his eyes. He was smiling too, with a smile as happy as mine. "Oh, Addie!" He leaned down to kiss me...”

“I wrote this [Most Kings] before MJ died, and his death only proves my point: When he was alive, the King of Pop, people were tireless in taking him down, accepting as truth every accusation people made against him, assuming the worst until they drove him away. When he died, suddenly he was beloved again - people realized that the charges against him might really have been bogus, and that the skin lightening was really caused by a disease, and that his weirdness was part of his artistry. But when he was alive and on top, they couldn't wait to bring him down.”

“Today when I was walking down an endless maze of white picket fences back to the train station, a little boy playing in his front yard runs up to the fence and looks at me...looks at me with eyes that take it all in...maybe he will say,'Start writing. On the train. Tonight. In that gay little journal you carry around with you. It's what you naturally do, ever since the sixth grade, except this time it will be notes for this book. You'll be like a huge 33 year old goony sixth grader with a book deal writing on some lame ass commuter train. Now Go! Go on!'Whatever he says, he will deliver the message that all of us have lost the ability to say in our jaded adult lives. Maybe how our lives finally change but only when it is right for our lives to change. That we are not in control of this thing. I look back at him just before making my turn on the last part of my walk toward the train. It feels like slow motion as he sizes me up that one last time. He opens his mouth and the words come out: 'Hey mister, why dont you have a car?'Oh, man.”

“A man can lose his life falling off a mountain or falling off a hill. In the end it will not matter how he died, but how he lived. The important thing is to grab the life you can and make the most of it. - Gold Mountain”

“He was just hungry, Papa. He's going to die.He's going to die anyway.He's so scared, Papa.The man squatted and looked at him. I'm scared, he said. Do you understand? I'm scared.The boy didn't answer. He just sat there with his head down, sobbing.You're not the one who has to worry about everything.The boy said something but he couldn't understand him. What? He said.He looked up, his wet and grimy face. Yes I am, he said. I am the one.”