“Ironic," Betty Lou said at last. "The cereus insists on sunlight---that's why it must be at the end of the yard. And yet it saves its flowers for the moon. The sun never sees what it fathers."It takes from the day," I said, "gives to the night.”

“I watched the night sky with it's countless stars and its moon, and I wondered about the universe and all that had been created, why the stars and the moon rose at night and the sun in the day, how vast it must be, how I could never understand the infinite measure of its size.”

“I said to the night, "If you are in love with the moon, it is because you never stay for long."The night turned to me and said, "It is not my fault. I never see the Sun, how can I know that love is endless?”

“I think of the flower in the bud: huddled, compressed, dark. Yet somehow it feels the night, knows moon from sun. It waits...waits.”

“She's talking about condominiums," my friend Betty Searle called up to say one day. "Obviously she's involved with someone."Are you sure?" I said.Of course I'm sure," said Betty. "The question is who." She thought for a minute. "Maybe it's Senator Campbell," she said. "He's talking condominiums, too."Senators always talk about condominiums," I said. That's true," said Betty.”

“Out of sight above the house, the mirror moon reflected the sun of a day not yet dawned, shining the pale light of tomorrow on the yard and on the paper birches.”