“America for Me'Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and downAmong the famous palaces and cities of renown,To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kingsBut now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.So it's home again, and home again, America for me!My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;But when it comes to living there is no place like home.I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a dayIn the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.”

“Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;But when it comes to living there is no place like home.”

“For me, walking in a hard Dakota wind can be like staring at the ocean: humbled before its immensity, I also have a sense of being at home on this planet, my blood so like the sea in chemical composition, my every cell partaking of air. I live about as far from the sea as is possible in North America, yet I walk in a turbulent ocean. Maybe that child was right when he told me that the world is upside-down here, and this is where angels drown.”

“Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.”

“We'll build our own home."The promise curled around her heart, a vivid ray of sunlight. "In Manhattan?""Of course." A slow, slow smile. "What kind of mansion would you like?"Damn, but the archangel was playing with her again. The sunshine grew, filled her veins."Actually, I kind of like yours." She slid her arms around his neck. "Can I have it? Oh, and can I have Jeeves, too? I've always wanted a butler.""Yes."She blinked. "Just like that?""It's only a place.""We'll make it more," she promised, her mouth to his. "We'll make it ours.”

“... I'm the fortieth-ugliest man in this bar. But so what! So what! What if someday she lets me kiss each one of her freckles again? She has like a million. But every one of them means something to me. Isn't this how people used to fall in love? I know we're living in Rubenstein's America, like you keep saying. But doesn't that just make us even more responsible for each other's fates? I mean, what if Eunice and I just said no to all this. To this bar. To this FACing. The two of us. What if we just went home and read books to each other?”