“The whispers were a sound Billy had heard every blighted day since Janie's death, all day and all night. They were terrible and quiet--the dry voices of the dead.”

“She knew words no one had ever heard of, and she used words every day that had been mainly dead or sleeping for hundreds of years.”

“She hissed, right there behind my ear, and I had the horrible idea she was spitting maggots into my hair. Why maggots were a problem when I was about to be dead, I didn’t know, but the idea completely grossed me out. “In the womb I heard you die, for no one lives when a banshee cries.” I wasn’t just going to die. I was going to be rhymed to death. That simply wasn’t fair.”

“In the same way that certain sections of the city were mortal battlegrounds, some parts of the calendar were always more warlike than others, and during the days between Christmas and the new year all elements seemed to conspire to subdue the soul. Fire, rain, sickness, cold, and death were everywhere spread through the dark as in a painting of hell. People struggled until exhaustion, giving everything they had, and the days were packed with trials and mysteries.”

“We were all living according to those random arrangements, and none of us fully controlled the terms.”

“His voice evoked the ghosts of those who had paid that price and died horribly. They hovered in the shadows muttering vengeance, but he didn't appear to be affected as he walked and talked. He was at home with the living and the dead.”

“The sidewalks flash silver with mica.Skyline smeared with geese.By way of recognitionI lost the sound of your voice.”