“My thoughts hovered over all varieties of mortal edible, and finally settled on a porterhouse steak and a quart of bitter with a welsh rabbit to follow. In longing hopelessly for these dainties I fell asleep.”

“Two whores who finally found something to mother. A guy could write a book about it, he thought bitterly, call it From Hair To Maternity. It would probly be a very long book. Whores did not produce as fast as rabbits.”

“I hover over the expensive Scotch and then the Armagnac, but finally settle on a glass of rich red claret. I put it near my nose and nearly pass out. It smells of old houses and aged wood and dark secrets, but also of hard, hot sunshine through ancient shutters and long, wicked afternoons in a four-poster bed. It's not a wine, it's a life, right there in the glass.”

“Good thing she didn't kick hard enough. My jewels are still intact! My meat is still edible! My tube steak is fully functional! The frank is still above the beans!”

“This is a little awkward," I said, "but my mother just ran over the rabbit.""Ran over?""As in roadkill. We're not sure what to do about it.""Where are you?""Giovichinni's, buying lunch meat.""And the rabbit?""Gone. He was with two other guys. They scooped him up off the road and drove away with him."There was a long silence on the phone. "I'm fucking speechless," Morelli finally said.”

“So many leaves have fallen on my life. Some settled nicely to rest, but most fell, withered to bitter cold and drifted on. But, after all that, I would brave all the coldness of humanity again for the sight of a few more beautiful yellow leaves falling on Aspen, and the birds....”