“His was a lean excitable face with little bright eyes as evil as a frantic child's eyes. A cantankerous, complaining, mischievous, laughing face. He fought and argued, told dirty stories. He was as lecherous as always. Vicious and cruel and impatient, like a frantic child and the whole structure overlaid with with amusement. He drank too much when he could get it, ate too much when it was there, talked too much all the time.”

“He drank too much when he could get it, ate too much when it was there, talked too much all the time.”

“What do you think?" he asked, his voice deep and commanding.I eyed him. "Impressive, but too much."He leaned toward me, the blue eyes smoky with a promise I was shure he could fulfill. I tried not to think of the bedroom."Too much?""Yes. I like the menace. It's very masculine, but he looks like he would screw everything in sight and call me 'wench”

“he knows too much about himself to subject her to a morning after, when he will be cold, surly, impatient to be alone.”

“Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that's the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing. Nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him if he gives too much.”

“He doesn't even look at her because there is too much there, and he's afraid. She is his first child, his favorite, every mistake he ever made.”