“He raised his hands and, guided by a redeeming impulse of truth-like a conductor leading his orchestra in a grand symphony-finally set fingers to keyboard and let the melody of his story dance across the screen”

“The symphony orchestra had played poorly, so the conductor was in a bad mood. That night he beat his wife--because the music hadn't been beautiful enough.”

“He lost a finger. A finger! Why, I once had a Sherpa who guided me across the Himalayas with his small intestines hanging out of his gut -- in winter!”

“He that takes truth for his guide, and duty for his end, may safely trust to God's providence to lead him aright”

“That’s an awful lot of littles, don’t you think?”“Perhaps.” He displayed his hand. “Big.” He set hers next to his, so small and delicate contrasted with his thick, blunt fingers. Why did holding her fragile hand raise every protective instinct he had?”

“He let her do it, then looked around for his fingers. There they were, curled like a bloody quotation mark on the lead. He laughed.”