“Hail, hail Freedonia, land of the free!”

“Hail God, Hail Germany!”

“Farewell happy fields,Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“Luka, the king—""Hail the king!" he playfully interrupted."Why does everyone say 'hail the king' every time I mention Darius?""Tradition." He winked at me from over his shoulder. A grin stretched my lips."So, if I say king—""Hail the king!"I tried again. "King?""Hail the king!""King.""Hail the king!""K—""Stop it!”

“She had no need in her heart for either book or magazine. She had her own way of escape, her own passage into contentment: her rosary. That string of white beads, the tiny links worn in a dozen places and held together by strands of white thread which in turn broke regularly, was, bead for bead, her quiet flight out of the world. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. And Maria began to climb. Bead for bead, life and living fell away. Hail Mary, Hail Mary. Dream without sleep encompassed her. Passion without flesh lulled her. Love without death crooned the melody of belief. She was away: she was free; she was no longer Maria, American or Italian, poor or rich, with or without electric washing machines and vacuum cleaners; here was the land of all-possessing. Hail Mary, Hail Mary, over and over, a thousand and a hundred thousand times, prayer upon prayer, the sleep of the body, the escape of the mind, the death of memory, the slipping away of pain, the deep silent reverie of belief. Hail Mary and Hail Mary. It was for this that she lived.”

“All hail Discordia!”