“You have to be gentle with the young, W. says. They're a gentle generation, like fauns, he says, and require a special tenderness. Their lives are going to be bad--very bad--and, at the very least, we should be tender with them, and not remind them of what is to come.”

“Part of me loves and respects men so desperately, and part of me thinks they are so embarrassingly incompetent at life and in love. You have to teach them the very basics of emotional literacy. You have to teach them how to be there for you, and part of me feels tender toward them and gentle, and part of me is so afraid of them, afraid of any more violation.”

“He shakes his head. "They're hunting the Enkis. I know that. And I get that. But . . . we're special.""The reason they want them is because they're special. Anchovies aren't going to cure anyone.""That's not the special I mean." He catches another fish and hugs it to his chest.I'm trying to be gentle. "They're only special to you because they're yours.""I could say the same thing about that cute kid you were holding."Well, shit.”

“Tender," she said again. "Tender is kind and gentle. It's also sore, like the skin around an injury.”

“He were found drowned. He were coming home very hopeless o' aught on earth. He thought God could na be harder than men; mappen not so hard; mappen as tender as a mother; mappen tenderer. I'm not saying he did right, and I'm not saying he didn't wrong. All I say is, may neither me nor mine ever have his sore heart, or we may do like things.”

“He kissed me, though not in a sexy way. Gentle. Tender.”