“In Virginia... all geese are swans.”

“Every man thinks his own geese swans.”

“The silver Swan, who living had no Note,when Death approached, unlocked her silent throat.Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,thus sang her first and last, and sang no more:Farewell, all joys! O Death, come close mine eyes!More Geese than Swans now live, more Fools than Wise.”

“Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes right—all that falls to them is so much gain—all their geese are swans—all their cards are trumps—toss them which way you will, they will always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so much the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as they think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it know about the matter?”

“Okay, so. You, Belikov, the Alchemist, Sonya Karp, Victor Dashkov, and Robert Doru are all hanging out in West Virginia together.”“No,” I said.“No?”“We’re, uh, not in West Virginia.”

“What has 32 legs and 1 tooth?'What?' we all asked.A West Virginia unemployment line.”