“Beer dulls a memory, brand sets it burning, but wine is the best for a sore heart's yearning.”

“When left to its own devices it tends to make me look as if I’ve been set afire.”

“What do you know of poetry?” Ambrose said without bothering to turn around. “I know a limping verse when I hear it,” I said. “But this isn’t even limping. A limp has rhythm. This is more like someone falling down a set of stairs. Uneven stairs. With a midden at the bottom.” “It is a sprung rhythm,” he said, his voice stiff and offended. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” “Sprung?” I burst out with an incredulous laugh. “I understand that if I saw a horse with a leg this badly ‘sprung,’ I’d kill it out of mercy, then burn its poor corpse for fear the local dogs might gnaw on it and die.”

“The best lies about me are the ones I told.”

“But sometimes the best help a person can find is helping someone else.”

“Only priests and fools are fearless and I've never been on the best of terms with God.”

“I've always liked the moonless night best. It's easier to say things in the dark. It's easier to be yourself.”