“Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating, by them. Yet if I were asked to name the most important items in a writer's make-up, the things that shape his material and rush him along the road he wants to go. I would only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto.”

“His words were rare, full conversations with him even rarer, as if Parker were one of his students that he did not want to indulge with conversation after class.”

“Along the edge of this green lived a man. His name is not important, as no one ever used it. The villagers only ever called him the Apothecary.”

“Just Michael, how grateful I was that he was alive, how much I wanted to touch him. How much I wanted him to touch me.He kept his eyes on the activity outside. "Emerson, you can't look at me like that. Not right now.""How do you know I'm looking at you?""I can feel it." He smiled. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it in his voice. He hooked one arm around my neck and gently pulled me to his side.”

“He wanted to hear her concerns and alleviate them, he wanted to hold her and kiss her and convince her that he would find a way to make their relationship work, no matter how hard that might be. He wanted to to make her hear his words: that he couldn't imagine a life without her,that his feelings for her were real. But most of all, he wanted to reassure himself that she felt the same way about him.”

“...if you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, without fun, you are only half a writer. It means you are so busy keeping one eye on the commercial market, or one ear peeled for the avant-garde coterie, that you are not being yourself. You don't even know yourself. For the first thing a writer should be is-- excited. He should be a thing of fevers and enthusiasms.”