“Ah, Sharon Lipschutz," said the young man. "How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire.”

“How many memories can come through at once before they are just jumbled words and faces mixed together by years of pain?”

“Stubborn heart,' I said. 'Long memory. Bad mix.”

“Names are still magic; even Sharon, Karen, Darren, and Warren are magic to somebody somewhere. In fairy stories, naming is knowledge. When I know your name, I can call your name, and when I call your name, you'll come to me.”

“The young man called the waiter and paid. Then he got up and said to the girl: 'We're going.'Where to?' The girl feigned surprise.Don't ask, just come on,' said the young man.Is that any way to talk to me?'It's the way I talk to whores.”

“The man's tongue is fit to frighten the French. Another fever."Ah, there," said Morgan, "that comed of sp'iling Bibles."That comed--as you call it--of being arrant asses.”