“Now I’m just standing here on the conveyor. Along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy. After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesn’t lurch or groan like most of us. Her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her. That she doesn’t lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her.”

“My head was level with hers as we stared at each other from opposite sides of the glass. I don't remember how it ended - if I went to bed or she did. In my memory, it doesn't end. We just stay there, looking at each other, forever.”

“She is wonderful,” Cheney said a little breathlessly. “But I can see that long rides on her would be tiring. She doesn’t just walk along, does she?” “No,” Shiloh said in a low tone, his eyes alight. “She dances.” He was staring directly at Cheney, and she lowered her eyes and blushed.”

“I know she’d get some crazy idea in her head that I’m bad for her. And that’s just not true. In fact, the longer I know her, the more time I spend with her, the more I believe I’m exactly what she needs in her life. She just doesn’t know it yet. But she will.”

“i am standing upon the seashore. a ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. she is an object of beauty and strength. i stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. then someone at my side says: "there, she is gone!" "gone where?" gone from my sight. that is all. she is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port. her diminished size is in me, not in her. and just at the moment when someone at my side says: "there, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "here she comes!" and that is dying.”

“I’m going to get out. Her spirits lurched unsteadily into the air like a wounded pigeon. I’m going to get out of this wormpit of a town. And I will never, never come back here again.”