“If I be just a page torn out of a book,May I sail forever over the oceans blue, Float over the treetops and the mountains too,Drift across the valleys and the flowers look,Until at last, I rest and kiss the morning dew.”

“Over every mountain, there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.”

“Still holding my breath, I worked the dull point inside and slowly, slowly drew back the stopper, plunged it back in, and exhaled. At last, my grateful spirit eased out of the fetid bag of humanity crumpled in that Japanese car, eased out and drifted overhead, until it floated high over the San Fernando Valley, far away from all these people who just didn't understand, far away and high above the awful circumstance of what now passed for my life.”

“I cried a river of tears but he was too heavy to float on them. So I dragged him with me these years across an ocean.”

“Startled, I accidently knock over my inkwell. A black tsunami of ink sprawls out across the page, engulfing the tiny village of my words. They are swept away into the midnight sea. Gone forever. I am bereft.”

“All those ninnies have it wrong. The best thing about Seattle is the weather. The world over, people have ocean views. But across our ocean is Bainbridge Island, an evergreen curb, and over it the exploding, craggy, snow-scraped Olympics. I guess what I'm saying: I miss it, the mountains and the water.”