“I manage a toast to the Christmas treeand one to the sweet absurdityin the miracle of the verb to be.Lucky you, lucky me.”
“They've a temper, some of them--particularly verbs: they're the proudest--adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs--however I can manage the whole lot of them!”
“Sleep, baby, sleepYour father tends the sheepYour mother shakes the dreamland treeAnd from it fall sweet dreams of theeSleep, baby, sleep.”
“Miracles happen on Christmas, Pat. Everybody knows that shit.”
“You're serious?""As a heart attack."I set my bag down and leaned on the counter. Okay, Hunter Zaccadelli, you could make me dinner. "Stuffed French toast, sweet potato hash and strawberries and cream.""Breakfast for dinner? You rebel, you.”
“Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.”