“I’m a bean counter. Oh, I’m not an accountant, but I did spill pinto beans on the counter.”

“It is better to avail oneself of the old bean than to spill the beans.”

“To look at them, leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchen, is to understand the connection between farming, itself an act of blind faith, and religion. If you can believe in a year’s worth or corn or beans, it seems, you can believe in anything.”

“Perhaps talk of counters turned the boy’s thoughts to his father’s glove shop. His father would have accounted for all his transactions using the tokens. They were hard and round and very thin, made of copper or brass. There were counters for one pair of gloves, and for two pairs, and three and four and five. But there was no counter for zero. No counters existed for all the sales that his father did not close.”

“I’m a realist,” I replied stubbornly, “not a romantic. Romanticsare always disappointed.”“Maybe they’re disappointed because they’re always surroundedby realists.” Simon countered.”

“What I really want is to sit next to someone on an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don't want some rusty '73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when its rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos?”