“Solo For Ear-Trumpet The carriage brushes through the brightLeaves (violent jets from life to light);Strong polished speed is plunging, heavesBetween the showers of bright hot leavesThe window-glasses glaze our facesAnd jar them to the very basis — But they could never put a polishUpon my manners or abolishMy most distinct disinclinationFor calling on a rich relation!In her house — (bulwark built betweenThe life man lives and visions seen) — The sunlight hiccups white as chalk,Grown drunk with emptiness of talk,And silence hisses like a snake — Invertebrate and rattling ache….Then suddenly EternityDrowns all the houses like a seaAnd down the street the Trump of DoomBlares madly — shakes the drawing-roomWhere raw-edged shadows sting forlornAs dank dark nettles. Down the hornOf her ear-trumpet I conveyThe news that 'It is Judgment Day!''Speak louder: I don't catch, my dear.'I roared: 'It is the Trump we hear!''The What?' 'THE TRUMP!' 'I shall complain!…. the boy-scouts practising again.”

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.” Corinthians, 15:52”

“What's the matter with you?" I hissed at her as we followed Kieran and Solange inside.'She's royalty!'"And a vampire, remember?"'Oh yeah,' Chloe paused. 'Nope, princess trumps vampire.”

“Chloe nodded meekly. I’d never seen her so demure.“What’s the matter with you?” I hissed at her as we followed Kieran and Solange inside.“She’s royalty!”“And a vampire, remember?”“Oh yeah.” Chloe paused. “Nope, princess trumps vampire.”“Does not.”“So does.”

“The hot blue-glass eyes of the mannequins watched as the ladies drifted down the empty river bottom street, their images shimmering in the windows like blossoms seen under darkly moving waters.”

“When I was a little girl, I used to try and bring sunshine to my mother. I felt so bad that she had never really seen or felt it. So I would try and catch it in jars. When that failed, I captured jars and jars of lightening bugs and told her that if we could catch enough of them, then it would look like the sun. She’d laugh, hug me, and then set them free and tell me that nothing should have to live its life in a cage. (Cassandra)”