“I told you once,” said Red, “that I wanted to hear your voice. I did not think the first words I would hear would be these.”“Those were not the first words,” I whispered, fighting tears. I would not weep.”

“Did somebody whisper something? I look left then right. Uh oh. I think I'm hearing voices now. Not, I AM hearing voices I THINK I'm hearing voices. Okay not voices, just a voice. Is thinking you heard it better or worse than knowning you heard it? Does the distinction matter?”

“Farewell” is not the word that you would like to hear from your mother as you are being led to the dungeon by 2 oversize mice in black hoods.Words that you would like to hear are “Take me instead, I will go to the dungeon in my sons place.” There is a great deal of comfort in those words.”

“If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.”

“There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"And the lily whispers, "I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet;Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead,Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.”

“Say it,” he whispers. “I missed out on this the first time. I want to hear you say it.”