“He gripped it and the sky began to spin; and Pidge knew that if he didn't put it right, the country would somehow obey the signpost and twist around and that, even though he was directly headed for Shancreg and home, he would end up in Kyledove.”

“You're daft,' she said.'Doan matter what you think of me,' he said generously. 'I'll never think less of you.”

“Rising up into the air, they took to the sky and flew. From west and beyond west, into the wind and through it, they came past countless moons and suns. One laughed and briefly wore a scarf of raindrops in her hair, and then with wicked feet she kicked a cloud and caused rain to swamp a boat.”

“What is believed in one man's time, is despised in another man's day. To be sure, there will even be revulsion in some future years at things you hardly notice, that are happening in what is known to you as the present.”

“The sky darkened, the air grew colder, but he didn't mind. It didn't occur to him to move. This was the right place. This was where he had wanted to be.”

“No matter how much he talked, she never answered him, but he knew she was still there. He knew it was like the soldiers he had read about. They would have an arm or a leg blown off, and for days, even weeks after it happened, they could still feel the arm itching, the leg itching, the mother calling.”

“Do you think that Hemingway knew he was a writer at twenty years old? No, he did not. Or Fitzgerald, or Wolfe. This is a difficult concept to grasp. Hemingway didn't know he was Ernest Hemingway when he was a young man. Faulkner didn't know he was William Faulkner. But they had to take the first step. They had to call themselves writers. That is the first revolutionary act a writer has to make. It takes courage. But it's necessary”