“He were found drowned. He were coming home very hopeless o' aught on earth. He thought God could na be harder than men; mappen not so hard; mappen as tender as a mother; mappen tenderer. I'm not saying he did right, and I'm not saying he didn't wrong. All I say is, may neither me nor mine ever have his sore heart, or we may do like things.”

“we don't know he's dead do we? Have we seen a body? Has anyone told us he's dead?"I didn't say anything," he protested. Then don't look at me like I'm crazy. If I'm wrong,let me be wrong , let me be crazy,”

“You have to be gentle with the young, W. says. They're a gentle generation, like fauns, he says, and require a special tenderness. Their lives are going to be bad--very bad--and, at the very least, we should be tender with them, and not remind them of what is to come.”

“Several times that day, the name or thought of Papa had come up. And each time, Francie had felt a flash of tenderness instead of the old stab of pain. "Am I forgetting him?" she thought. "In time to come, will it be hard to remember anything about him? I guess it's like Granma Mary Rommely says: 'With time, passes all.' The first year was hard because we could say last 'lection he voted. Last Thanksgiving he ate with us. But next year it will be two years ago that he...and as time passes it will be harder and harder to remember and keep track.”

“He drops his head, his cheek pressed to mine, and he whispers in my ear. "If we go, we can't come back. Not ever. Things will never be the same."I lean into him, needing to feel every inch of him, wishing he could absorb me and put me out of my misery."I'm not perfect Cami. I'm not a thoroughbred like he is. I never will be."I'm under his spell, but I hear what he's saying. And I don't care. I don't care about anything but having Trick, having him in my life, having as much as he can give me. "I hear sometimes the wild ones are the best."He says nothing at first, but I can almost hear his smile as he no doubt recognizes his own words.”

“Only wings evade death. Neruda says so.' As he turns the page he looks at Zara and makes his bright blue eyes big. 'And Neruda knows.' He reaches for his pipe.Zara stares at him for some time. 'Was he a friend of God?'Who? Neruda?'Yes.'He may have been, I'm not sure, petite. For all we know he may even have been God.”