“But Fuchsia might as well have been carved from dark marble. Only her tears moved.”

“The man had a body that made her want to learn how to carve marble.”

“All the first years, their only question had been -- asked with beseechings and tears that might have moved stone, in time, perhaps, but hearts are not stones: "Is he alive?" "Is she alive?”

“His chest was hard and tempting, with the scars from his move to save her carved forever on his skin.”

“He was the only person awake, but he might as well have been alone and dreaming.”

“Fuchsia took three paces forward in the first of the attics and then paused a moment to retie a string above her knee. Over her head vague rafters loomed and while she straightened herself she noticed them and unconsciously loved them. This was the lumber room. Though very long and lofty it looked relatively smaller than it was, for the fantastic piles of every imaginable kind of thing, from the great organ to the lost and painted head of a broken toy lion that must one day have been the plaything of one of Fuchsia's ancestors, spread from every wall until only an avenue was left to the adjacent room.”