“        In the static mode an observer may unify the pieces of a puzzle, but only as a blueprint—kinetics add the third dimention of depth, and the fourth of history. The motion, however, must be on the human scale, which happens also to be that of birds, waves, and clouds. Were a bullet to be made sentient, it still would see or hear or smell or feel nothing in land or water or air except its target. So, too, with a passenger in any machine that goes faster than a Model A. As speed increases, reality thins and becomes at the pace of a jet airplane no more substantial than a computer readout.        Running suits a person who seeks to look inward, through a fugue of pain, to study the dark self. A person afraid of the dark had better walk—strenuous enough for the rhythm of the feet to pace those of heart and lungs, relaxed enough to let him look outward, through joy, to a bright creation.”

“       If this isn't a guidebook, what is it? A book of sermons, perhaps.       I preach that air travel be scaled back, as a start, to the level of twenty years ago, further reductions to be considered after all the Boeing engineers have been retrained as turkey ranchers.       The state Game Department should establish a season on helicopters — fifty-two weeks a year, twenty-four hours a day, no bag limit.       Passenger trains must be restored, as a start, to the service of forty years ago and then improved from there.       The Gypsy Bus System must not be regularized (the government would regulate it to death) but publicized cautiously through the underground.       I would discourage, if not ban, trekking to Everest base camp and flying over the Greenland Icecap. Generally, people should stay home. Forget gaining a little knowledge about a lot and strive to learn about a little.”

“He was old-fashioned looking, Grace decided. Not just the suit, which made him look as though he should be taking the air in one of those fifties movies on the French Riviera, but as if he was the second male lead in one of those same films. Not matinee-idol handsome enough to get the girl, but good enough to be the best friend of the one who got the girl. Or the arch nemesis of the one who got the girl who had his comeuppance ten minutes before the credits began to roll.”

“People say, "I have heart disease," not "I am heart disease." Somehow the presumption of a person's individuality is not compromised by those diagnostic labels. All the labels tell us is that the person has a specific challenge with which he or she struggles in a highly diverse life. But call someone "a schizophrenic" or "a borderline" and the shorthand has a way of closing the chapter on the person. It reduces a multifaceted human being to a diagnosis and lulls us into a false sense that those words tell us who the person is, rather than only telling us how the person suffers.”

“I looked at her when she was saying this and I realized that there is absolutely nothing you can say to a person who would feel comfortable suggesting something like that, let alone a direct accusation.”

“...and Lucy." She looked like she might cry.'What about her?'"Lucy smells like food." She nearly gagged saying it.'Sol, all that's normal. Lucy smelled good before I turned, and now she smells even better. But I haven't tried to eat her face and neither will you.'"She's not safe in this house."'Safer than out there,' I argued, even though I agreed with her. 'Look, you used to eat hamburgers.'She blinked, confused. "So?"'So, did you ever walk through one of the farms at a field party and suddenly try to eat a cow?'"Um, no." Her chuckle was watery but it was better than nothing. "And, ew."'Exactly. You can crave blood and not eat your best friend.”

“For Ragamuffins, God's name is Mercy. We see our darkness as a prized possession because it drives us into the heart of God. Without mercy our darkness would plunge us into despair - for some, self-destruction. Time alone with God reveals the unfathomable depths of the poverty of the spirit. We are so poor that even our poverty is not our own: It belongs to the mysterium tremendum of a loving God.”